Being a Saint
by MDGeistMD02
Summary: A story from the point of view of the foot-soldiers of the Third Street Saints – the poor unfortunates who take the most casualties yet get the least amount of credit and fame. This is their story and this is what it's like 'Being a Saint'. Set in SR2. Rated M for language, violence, slight adult situations, slight drug use, and some gore. (There may be some OC pairings)
1. Ep 1: Chaz's First Mission, Part 1

**Being a Saint**

**A/N: **This is my first story. I want to thank all of my friends that helped me get this here. I also want to thank MangoSupaStar, a great Beta Reader, who took time to help me by reviewing my story and offering a lot of helpful advice. Thanks to all of you.

**Story Outline**

The focus of the story revolves around the minor members of the Third Street Saints, mainly a four person crew (Artemis, Dice, Mongrel and Chaz) and some of their closest friends and allies. The main characters from the game – Johnny Gat, Carlos, Shaundi, and the Boss/Protagonist (in this version represented by a female Chinese/American mix) – are only peripheral characters with which they rarely interact (although there will be more interactions with Pierce as they are part of his crew).

The time period starts in _Saints Row 2_ shortly after the Samedi Mission _Veteran Child _where the Boss kills Veteran Child at the _On Track_ night club. No Brotherhood or Ronin missions have been started story-wise, yet.

The following merely tries to show a little glimpse into the lives of the foot-soldiers involved in the story – the poor unfortunates who take the most casualties yet get the least amount of credit and fame. This is their story and this is what it's like 'Being a Saint'.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing – not Saints Row, not Johnny Gat and the rest of the Saints, not even my house (the bank owns it, my house that is - I'm still paying it off).

* * *

><p><strong>Episode 1: Chaz's First Mission<strong>

Part 1 (Stilwater, April 08, 2011)

Dice was applying Pretty Princess Pink lipstick when Artemis's cell phone rang. In the mirror mounted on the wall, she saw Artemis's reflection about fifteen feet behind her own. Artemis answered his phone, listened for a few seconds then nodded. Trying to hide her curiosity, Dice went back to primping herself. She crinkled her little pug nose and made a big show of smoothing her purple baby doll tee while straining to listen to Artemis's end of the conversation. To say that this was difficult would be an understatement.

In the lower level of the Saints Main Hideout, the song 'Gansta Bitch' was playing on the radio and nearby some of the Saints were laughing and commenting on how hot Shaundi was and what would be the best way to get into her pants. On the mid-landing near the broken angel statue two of the female Saints, Molly and Stella by the sound of it, were dancing with one of the female strippers to the hoots and calls of a couple of guys. Closer still one Saint was boasting to nobody about how good the shit was that he was smoking and how good it was to be hooked up. Through it all, Dice tried to make out Artemis's words.

"Right," Artemis muttered, nodding again. Something… "District, north of…" something… "Not a problem, Pierce. Yeah, I got the crew with me. It should be a…" four or five words she couldn't make out… "Not to worry." Dice was so distracted that she didn't notice Tommy's approach.

"S'up, darling!" Tommy yelled as he slapped her on the ass.

Dice jumped and let out a quick squeak.

"Whoa, babe, whoa!" Tommy laughed. "Didn't mean ta scare ya!"

"Tommy, you useless limp-dick, puss-wad!" Dice screamed. "What the fuck's your problem? God you are such a loser."

"Aw, don't be mad, Tommy will fix it all up for you!" Tommy laughed again and spread his arms wide as if to give her a big hug.

"Back off, ass-smear!" she yelled. She took a half step away from Tommy and punched him in the arm.

"Ow, babe. No need to get rough… yet." Tommy made a wide grin that sickened her as he stepped toward her. "We can go upstairs if ya wants ta wrestle."

Dice backed up a full step from him and swung again, harder than before.

"Ow!" Tommy's jovial tone dropped as the solid blow landed. "The fuck's your problem, bitch?" His smile was replaced by a sneer. He straightened up as his hands balled into fists.

Dice tensed and a wave of heat flashed over her. She had been waiting for an excuse to smash Tommy's smug face into the floor for a while and it looked like she finally had it. Tommy was about five-ten, a full eight inches taller than her own five foot two inch frame and easily outweighed her by fifty or more pounds, but she didn't care. The leather of her black fingerless gloves crinkled as her fists tightened.

"_Swing, you smug ass," _she thought to herself._ "You'll miss and I'll mess you up! You'll be on the floor in 2.5 seconds and your blood will be polishing my nails."_

A heavy footfall behind her made Tommy look up. Tommy's sneer vanished and he paled a little.

"There a problem, Tom?" came a smooth, heavy voice.

"_No! Dammit, Blake!"_ Dice's mind raged as she recognized the voice behind her. "_I want'em to swing at me! Swing, Tommy you shit! Swing! I want to mess you up!"_

"No problem, Mongrel, heh, none at all," Tommy grinned. He opened his hands as he held them up. "Just a little funnin', ya know?" He stepped away from Dice. "Just a little funnin'..."

"Good. We'll catch up later, then, Tom? I want to talk to Dice." Tommy nodded in agreement, hastened down the stairs and quickly joined the guys hooting at Molly and Stella.

Dice turned and stared hard into the clean-shaven face of the blonde haired, blue-eyed Saint behind her. It was Blake… Mongrel to the rest of the gang. He was six foot three inches tall and weighed around 205 pounds. He looked lean, but nearly all of it was muscle. He was her best friend in the whole world although at this moment she was quite upset with him as her pout showed.

"Put the Gertrude lip away, Dice," he scolded softly, returning her look. "We don't fight with the rest of the Saints except in the Pit. Save that for the other gangs."

"I could've taken him," she protested.

"I'm sure you could."

"Fuck you, ya condescending bitch," she mumbled. Mongrel stared hard at her. "Whatever…" she said shrugging and went back to primping herself. She glanced in the mirror to see if she could find Artemis. He was off the phone and talking to Chaz in the far corner. She scowled at the reflection. "_Great,"_ she thought, "_Tommy's crap made me miss the call and I didn't even get a chance to beat his ass."_

"Don't scowl, Dice," Mongrel said behind her. "You look fine."

Dice smiled and glanced at her reflection as she fluffed her dark blonde hair, currently cut in a very cute short shaggy bob that she was growing out. She did have a nice figure - toned yet definitely feminine even in her cargo pants. Her hazel eyes locked on Blake's reflected in the mirror. She posed with one hand on her hip and another behind her head. "I know it!" she exclaimed, then blew his reflection a kiss. Mongrel sighed and shook his head.

"If you two are done making out," Artemis interrupted as Chaz and he approached the pair, "we got work to do."

"We get to hurt somebody?" Dice exclaimed, a smile coming quickly to her lips.

"Yes," Artemis replied. "Pierce says the boss and Gat want us to check out the northern part of Shivington in the Projects District. Some squatters are there – possibly allied with the Samedi and the Boss wants'em to move on."

The smile on her face vanished. "Ugh, Shivington… seriously? And what does 'move on' mean? Like, dead?"

"No," Artemis replied. "Stilwater's finest are canvassing the Projects District, so the boss doesn't want any gunfire. She just wants a little - let's say lesson - taught to the squatters. That means no heavy artillery, just bats and clubs on this one. Pistols brought as back up for emergency purposes only." Artemis looked pointedly at Dice. "Got it? Emergency purposes **only**."

Dice's face took on a perfect look of innocence. She gently laid a hand right below her throat as if taken aback by the implied accusation. "Of course, my dear Artemis," she said sweetly, trying to mimic the voice of a southern belle. "Why else would I use them?"

Artemis rolled his eyes. "Outside, people," he ordered. "We need to arm up. The boss wants it done before midnight."

Dice glanced at the clock hanging near the stairs. It was 8pm now, not much time left.


	2. Ep 1: Chaz's First Mission, Part 2

Part 2 (Stilwater, April 08, 2011)

Artemis, Dice, Chaz, and Mongrel exited the back door of the Saints Hideout, a rundown building whose main floor seemed to have been a church or mission at one time. Outside, Lucia was flirting with a young white guy that Dice didn't know. Lucia seemed intent on outdoing Shaundi's nearly exhaustive list of exes. The boy, a newly canonized Saint, was helping two other Saints, Bert and Dennis, unload bags of cement from the back of Bert's pickup. There were also tarps from Kempr a local scaffolding company, some two by fours, and various types of assorted tools.

Dice had heard that the boss and Gat had plans to finish remodeling the Hideout. There was a rumor that in addition to more stripper poles and new furniture there would be a working elevator installed in the building. She was all for that as she was tired of walking up three levels of sub-basements just to get to the ground floor.

As they passed the Saints unloading the pickup, Lucia waved and gave a thumbs up. Dice replied in kind. Lucia pointed to the unknown Saint behind his back and smiled. Dice returned the smile and noticed the bruising the boy had on his shoulders and upper arms from his recent canonizing. She glanced at their own initiate, Chaz, who bore similar bruises on his right cheek and lower left arm.

The newest member of their four man crew, Chaz was a young Cuban, barely eighteen making him two years younger than Dice and the youngest member of the crew. He was also short – five foot five - though, aggravatingly, still taller than she was - and scrawny. She figured a strong enough wind could come down and just carry him away if it wanted. Shortly after his own canonizing, Chaz started growing a goatee, presumably to make himself look older. It was a pathetic attempt as the short stubble on his chin was being outpaced by the short stubble he had on his (usually) shaved head.

The four approached Artemis's car, a tricked out Stiletto convertible - a solid late 1970s model sedan. Artemis had painted it two-tone with Saints Purple and Tobias White. The trim was done in Bay Yellow giving one the impression that the car had 'gold' highlights. The Stiletto's bumpers, body, frame and the white gold accented deep dish tires were all specially reinforced. The car wasn't a tank, but it could survive more than a little punishment.

Artemis walked to the trunk and opened it. He flicked the locks on the large black case he kept there and started passing out guns. To Chaz he handed a Vice 9 with three clips. The gleam in Chaz's eyes could have lit up a room – this was probably the first time he got to handle a gun while travelling with the Saints – maybe the first time ever. Mongrel received an NR4 with three clips. Dice got an NR4 as well. She would have preferred an SKR-9 Threat with hollow points but SMGs weren't allowed on this job. Artemis offered her three clips.

"No thanks, Artemis," she puffed out her chest while taking only two clips from him. "I've been practicing and won't need that much ammo." She took only two clips from him.

"Oh, really?" Artemis cocked an eyebrow. "You finally learn to shoot straight?" He sounded skeptical.

Dice made like she was going to punch him in the arm, but held off. She smirked, "You're just lucky I got respect for you." It may have sounded like a joke, but it wasn't.

Artemis, whose real name was William 'Willie' Brown was a good looking young black man, twenty-three years of age. He stood just shy of six feet and, like now, usually wore his hair in tight cornrows. Artemis had joined the Saints at the same time as Dice. Both were part of the large group of eager wannabes Johnny Gat first brought in when the Boss awoke from her coma and returned to Stilwater… when she started rebuilding the Saints. The two were canonized that day and had been loyal members of the Saints since.

Normally, Artemis and Dice would share control of their four man crew; both had seniority. However, Dice grudgingly admitted to herself, she did have a _bit_ of an anger issue and giving orders wasn't her forte – or taking them truth be told – so she let Artemis run their crew. He was a planner and always kept his cool. Besides it gave her more freedom that way.

As to his comment about her learning to shoot straight, Dice let that one go. She was a decent enough shot, but not like Artemis. He took his gang name from the Greek goddess of the hunt, because he was _that_ good. Out of the black case he retrieved a modified pair of gleaming GDHC.50s. On the streets these were his signature weapons. He loaded a clip into each and slid a third one into his jacket's inside pocket. Each pistol held eight rounds, sixteen total, and when Artemis went on 'the hunt' there was a good chance there'd wind up being sixteen bodies.

Holstering his guns, Artemis next handed out the melee weapons. Chaz and Mongrel each got a bat. Mongrel raised an eyebrow. Artemis noted his look. "No Dog's Bone for you today, friend," he said referring to Mongrel's signature weapon. "I told you Pierce doesn't want'em dead."

"They wouldn't be dead," Mongrel protested, "just seriously maimed." Now it was Artemis who raised an eyebrow. Mongrel let it drop.

Finally Artemis handed Dice a dark pink crowbar. She squealed with delight.

"You remembered to bring her!" Dice exclaimed cradling the crowbar like a beloved pet.

"Only the best for Lil Sister," he told her.

"Don't call me that," she complained.

"I told you," explained Artemis, a smile forming on his lips, "you're younger than me and we're like family, so you're my Lil Sister." Dice stared at him waiting for the eventual punch line she hated. "And of course you're _definitely_ shorter than just about anyone I have ever… OW!" The last was said as Dice punched him hard. Still, he laughed.

"Just be glad I didn't use this on your sorry punk-ass!" she exclaimed, holding up her crowbar. "Baby has a nasty bite." Dice smiled showing off her teeth.

"C'mon," protested Chaz. "Let's _do_ something. Watching paint dry is more interesting than this." He was eager to cause some havoc.

"Calm down, son," Artemis said, closing his trunk. "You get to ride up front with me."

"Really!" Chaz cried, his voice several octaves higher than he wanted it to be. Clearing his throat and lowering his voice he mumbled, "That's cool." He ran up and got into the front passenger seat.

"There are some rules about Clementine you need to know first, though," stated Artemis as he walked up to the driver's seat. Dice and Mongrel exchanged _here we go again_ looks and both sighed. The top was down, so they hopped into the back seat, Dice behind Artemis and Mongrel behind Chaz. "First, no spitting on the floor – I _will_ fuck you up for that. Second, no bleeding in the car if you can help it."

"Let's go already!" complained Dice who had heard 'The Rules of Clementine' at least a half dozen times. Artemis gave her a hard look in the rear view mirror. "The boss wants this over with tonight, right?" she questioned, trying to use logic to head off the argument before it began. "You want to be the one to tell her we spent all night talking?"

Artemis held her look for a moment then started the engine. She grinned despite her best attempt not to. "_This logic shit might be worth it,"_ she thought, but quickly dismissed the idea. "_Nah…"_

The Stiletto sped off the parking lot and moved onto the streets. Dice smiled wide. She glanced at Mongrel who showed her a rare smirk – he didn't smile much. She leaned forward and let the wind whip through her hair. This was gonna be fun…


	3. Ep 1: Chaz's First Mission, Part 3

Ch 3 (Stilwater, April 08, 2011)

Artemis checked to make sure his crew wasn't trailed. After leaving the lot, he drove south a couple of blocks and turned west for a few more. He was getting ready to head north when he glanced into his rearview. "_You've __**got**__ to be kidding me!"_ he thought. There in the rearview mirror was a police car heading straight for them. He shook his head then continued west.

"Where we going?" protested Dice. "We're supposed to go the other way, past the Brown Baggers!" The blue and red police lights flared on. "Oh shit!" she shrieked glancing behind her.

"What we gonna do?" yelled Chaz. "They gonna search us for sure. We'll be busted with these weapons on us!" He searched for a place to stash his piece.

"Everyone just chill," said Mongrel. "Artemis, what's the call."

"_Thank god for Mongrel; at least one of'em has some sense,"_ Artemis thought. Then he spoke, "What we're going to do is get our shit under control. At least _try_ not to act suspicious." He glanced at Chaz. "Relax, son. I got this." Artemis slowed down and pulled his car over to the right waving the police car to pass him. The cops hadn't blared their sirens yet; maybe they just wanted him out of the way.

No such luck. The police car eased behind them. A spotlight flared to life and aimed its beam at the back of the Stiletto. "_Don't anyone do anything stupid,"_ Artemis prayed. Of course, it was at that time that Dice turned around in her seat, stood on her knees and waved at the police car.

"Dice," he growled through gritted teeth, "I swear to god I will beat your ass if you don't sit down." She complied, turning around and sitting down with a huff. She focused her attention on her fingernails.

A cop exited the driver side door of the police car. He had a lit flashlight in his left hand, while his right gripped the butt of his pistol still in its holster. As he approached the car, Artemis could make out a vague outline in the front passenger seat of the police car. "_Great, two of'em,"_ he thought derisively. When the driver reached him, Artemis knew he was screwed. It was Officer Ken Terwil.

Terwil, a thirty-something year old career cop, was a constant pain to the Saints. He had been assigned to both the Projects and Red Light Districts for the last three years. Before Ultor had taken over the Saints Row District, Terwil had been assigned there. Completely average-looking, Terwil's biggest distinguishing characteristic was his constant change of new partners.

When the boss first ran with the Saints six years ago, back when Julius was leader of the Third Street Saints, Terwil went through no less than three partners. Two had been shot and killed in the line of duty; the third was the victim of a hit and run by no less than the Boss herself when she was just a lieutenant in the gang. He lived, but retired soon after that.

During the interim when the boss was laid up in a coma, Terwil was partnered with a female cop by the name of Angela DeWynter. She was shot and wounded by the Sons of Samedi last year. She retired from law enforcement a month later and moved to Steelport to work at a corporation with her cousins. Terwil's next partner was a sleaze named Tibbett who was luckily taken out by the Ronin in Rebadeaux.

Three months ago, Terwil was assigned Josh Graden. Josh seemed alright – for a cop. He was part of Troy's new style of policemen – loyal, hard-working, and surprisingly honest. Unfortunately, with so many gangs running around Stilwater, Troy couldn't just let go of bad cops like Terwil without severely handicapping himself – and the city.

"Evening, officer," Artemis greeted, smoothly flashing his license. "Is there a problem? I don't think I was speeding." He flashed one of his best smiles.

"License and Proof of Insurance?" There wasn't the slightest hint of politeness in his voice.

"Right here, officer." Artemis flipped his sun visor down. Rubber-banded to its underside was the appropriate documents. He handed these to Terwil. As Artemis waited as the policeman looked over the cards, he happened to see Dice in the rearview. She looked up from doing her nails and had a surprised look on her face, as if even she didn't believe he had the documents.

"Legal Lee's?" inquired Officer Terwil. "I doubt the sincerity of this insurance firm."

Artemis saw Dice's face suddenly dawn with understanding. Legal Lee was a lawyer who had a special understanding with the Boss and provided her and her crew with any documents they required. Dice smiled and winked at him. He refrained from returning it. "You may, sir, but it is a legal insurance company," he said, "backed by the city government."

"Turn off the engine and step out of the car," was the officer's reply.

"On what grounds?" asked Artemis. He heard Chaz take shuddering breaths as the new initiate started to panic. Artemis kept his voice steady and hoped Chaz could keep it together.

"On the grounds that I don't like your goddamned face, retard!" the officer shouted shining his flashlight directly in Artemis's face. "Now get out of the car before I arrest you for obstructing an officer of the city!"

"Sorry, sir," Artemis replied. "I meant no disrespect – we just heard that my friend's mother had taken a nasty tumble down her basement steps." He put his hand on Chaz's shoulder. "You can see the young man's quite upset by this. We were just trying to hurry. Of course, getting directions from him while he's in this state is quite difficult – thus we were going in circles." The flashlight was then directed at Chaz's face.

"Yeah," Chaz said nervously, his face looking down. "We installed a line in the basement… ya know. Cuz this happens… ya know… her falling, that is. In, uh, the basement… A lot."

The light left Chaz's face, skimmed over Mongrel's face before alighting upon Dice. Artemis saw Terwil's eyes widen with recognition. He leaned over.

"Dice? Was that you waving at us as we pulled up?" asked Terwil. "Well, if I had known it was you in the car, I would have offered you a police escort."

"If I had known it was you, _Terd_-wil, I wouldn't have waved," Dice muttered, keeping her eyes focused on her nails.

"Excuse me?" Terwil leaned closer. "I didn't catch that."

"Nothing," she muttered.

"Did you just threaten me?" Terwil stood upright again.

"No, I didn't," Dice told him clearly, looking up from her nails.

Artemis cleared his throat. "Um, what did you say the problem was again, officer?" he asked, trying to regain control of the conversation.

"Actually, you can go," Terwil said, handing back Artemis's documents.

Artemis smiled. "Well, thank you, sir…" he began. Terwil cut him off.

"But not her." Before Artemis could protest, he continued. "Did you know this little lady used to be a repeat drug offender? She was pulled in several times for drug use."

Artemis turned in his seat to glance back at Dice as she muttered, "I'm off that stuff." He saw her shrink into herself as she looked down at her feet. "I'm done with it." She rubbed her left arm instinctively as if to reassure herself that the needle marks were long gone.

Before Artemis could protest, Terwil continued, "Off it, but I doubt you're done with it. Maybe you're selling it now. I think you should come with me." Terwil had a callous look in his eye. "There's no female officers here, sorry, but I can search you myself since we know each other so well." A vicious smile slashed across his face. "Don't worry, though, I'll be _very_ thorough."

Now it was Artemis's turn to panic. He glanced in the back again, not at Dice who was shuddering at Terwil's remarks… but rather at Mongrel. Mongrel was aptly named. Like any good dog, he was loyal no matter what. He was loyal to his friends, loyal to the Boss, and loyal to the Saints. Most of all, he was loyal to Dice.

The large man was completely focused on Officer Terwil. In the glare of the police car's spotlight Artemis could make out the telling signs. Mongrel's nostril's flared ever so slightly. A slight bulge in Mongrel's neck indicated he was tensing up. Worst of all, he saw the change in Mongrel's eyes. The normally sapphire blue eyes had faded to a slate grey.

Artemis had heard that some people's eyes changed color when they were experiencing different emotions such as joy or sadness – but he never actually knew anyone like that until he met Mongrel. In the eight months he had run with Mongrel, Artemis had only seen this happen three times. Each time, someone died… horribly. It was happening again; Mongrel was getting angry – no, something ugly beyond angry. Pierce, the boss lady, and God himself could not offer him enough money to try to get in Mongrel's way – Terwil was as good as dead.

Several scenarios played out in Artemis's head. Most involved shooting his way out of this. All of his plans focused on three main points. Terwil would be dead, Josh Graden – though basically a decent man – would have to go as a witness and the dash-cam as well as the computer in the police car would have to be removed. Even if Officer Graden managed to call for back-up with a description of his car, there'd be no actual witnesses. Artemis would just say his car was stolen. Of course, this meant Clementine would have to be torched.

"_Damn it,"_ he thought as he gripped one of his custom pistols. "_How'd this shit go so wrong so quick?"_

Suddenly, Officer Graden called out from the police car. "Ken! Wrap it up! Landers says there's a shoot-out of some kind with the Sons of Samedi about eight blocks southwest of here! All units are asked to respond!" Graden then said something into his com.

A sudden expression of disappointment fell across Terwil's face. "Sorry, kitten. Guess we'll have to play later." Heading back to his car, Terwil called out, "You kids stay out of trouble now!"

Holding his breath as Terwil got in, Artemis only sighed with relief when the police car sped away. He waited until it was completely out of sight before pulling back out into traffic.

"Everyone did well," he assured them even if he didn't believe it himself. "Now that that's over with, maybe we can get back to work." He reached under his purple shirt and pulled out his gold cross hanging around his neck, rubbing the Saints' fleur-de-lis symbol engraved on it. Chaz finally quit shaking and Mongrel was saying something quietly to Dice who was gently nodding. "_Yeah," _Artemis silently thought, shaking his head_, "this is gonna work out great."_


	4. Ep 1: Chaz's First Mission, Part 4

**Ep. 1 Part 4**

** (Stilwater, April 08, 2011)**

"Alright people, I want to hear it again," Artemis announced as he raised his smoothie to his mouth. He had bought them each a drink at the Brown Baggers in southern Shivington. "From the top." He took a long sip from the straw as he was answered by a trio of groans from his crew.

"Again?" Dice griped. "Can't we just…"

"Uh uh," Artemis's negative response interrupted her. "After that near miss with the police, you **will** repeat this to my satisfaction." He stared at each one in turn. They stood near his car parked up a little ways in the alley on the west side of the convenient store. "Mongrel, how do we begin?"

"We head west along this block," rattled off the tall Saint as he put the lid back on his bottled water, "keeping an eye on the lots and alleys until we reach the far end. Then we turn north and look for any squatters. The ones in this area usually hang together."

Artemis nodded in approval and then looked at Chaz.

"Uh," Chaz began as he finished off his soda. "We're not looking for just any squatters, right?" He gazed up at Artemis who nodded back. "These would be people the Sons of Samedi would use as muscle or runners." Chaz leaned back on the parked Stiletto as he pondered.

"Get off my car," Artemis ordered. "Clementine doesn't like it."

"Sorry," Chaz apologized. He quickly stood upright. "Uh, so no cripples… or…" he tried to remember. "Old people… or… people livin' in… in boxes or stuff." Artemis nodded again.

"This is because…" he prompted Chaz.

"Uh…" Chaz thought hard and then his face lit up. "The old and infirm! That's it!" He snapped his fingers as Artemis nodded approvingly. "The Samedi won't want'em cuz they ain't tough enough! And, uh, the people with the boxes and other type of thrown together homes have been there for a while. They know to stay out of the gangs' way, so they'll be… What ya call it? On the Fence! That's it! They won't interfere. The new people don't know that they need to stay out of Saints' business, cuz Saints rule!" He held up his hand for a high five. Artemis merely stared at him. Chaz glanced to Mongrel who looked down and shook his head. He finally looked over at Dice who gave him a high five back.

Artemis stared pointedly at Dice.

"What?" she asked. "I couldn't leave'em hangin' – it was kind of pathetic."

"Hey!" cried Chaz.

Ignoring him, Artemis continued to Dice, "Go on."

"Wha… me?" Dice looked to Mongrel who simply nodded encouragingly.

"Your boyfriend can't help you," Artemis pressed.

"He isn't my... oh god, whatever," she huffed, annoyed. "Yeah, so what do you need to know?"

Artemis stared, knowing it was bothering her. He started, "We're there. We've found the squatters the boss wants removed. Now what?"

Dice grinned. "We kick the shit outta them!" Ignoring Artemis's condescending look she continued. "We ain't supposed to kill them," she mumbled in a monotone as if reciting a tedious repetitive lesson from a schoolteacher for the fortieth time. "We get'em gone."

"Then?" he asked her.

Dice looked around, then at Artemis. "What? Me again?" She glanced downward. "Um, check out any connection with the Sons of Samedi. Talk to whoever seems to be leading the group." She looked at Artemis again. "Right?"

"Correct."

"Then we report to Pierce or the Boss," Dice finished.

"Good," Artemis said. Keeping his gaze on her he asked, "What if things go wrong?"

"What? Again?" she held his gaze. "Why the fuck do I get to answer all the shit?" Her tone grew angry. "What about these two?" she questioned, nodding towards Chaz and Mongrel.

"What about them?" Artemis challenged.

"I answered your shit," she said. "It's their turn now."

"**They** didn't let Officer Terwil get to them," Artemis replied. "**They** didn't fall apart with one remark from that dick-head cop."

"What the fuck?" Dice looked at him with disgust. "What about newbie here?" she asked indicating Chaz. "He freaked the hell out!"

"You're right," Artemis agreed. He felt his own temper rising, but held it in check as he calmly continued. "Chaz is the newbie. It's his first mission. He's gonna freak a little."

Chaz started to raise his hand to protest. Artemis shot him a cold look that froze him on the spot. Mongrel grabbed Chaz's arm and shook his head 'no'. Chaz backed down. Artemis returned his gaze to Dice.

"Mongrel held his cool," Artemis continued – _though just barely_ he thought to himself. "You, however, have done this shit as long as I have." His voice started rising. "You have the experience! You should know better! You need to keep your head focused!" Artemis finally regained his composure. "Now what do we do if something goes wrong?"

Dice glanced at Mongrel who kept his gaze averted – his way of saying he was in agreement with Artemis. She looked down, and took a deep breath. She set her jaw and looked Artemis right in the eyes. In a steady voice that betrayed none of her anger she said, "We work our way back to your car. You purposely parked it in the alley so that no one would spot it from the street. That way if there were any questions later, no one could tell the police they saw it." She took another deep breath.

"We use the alleys and lots rather than the sidewalk – again so no witnesses connect us to anything that might go wrong. You parked facing north rather than the street because in that direction there are multiple alleys and lots off this block to choose from so that no one can box us in. We continue north once on the roads, make a big u-turn after a couple of blocks and then head back to the Red Light Crib – close enough to the main hideout if we need to get there, but far enough away so that people won't directly connect the Saints with anything that went wrong here." Keeping her voice calm, she finished with, "Anything else you need to know… _boss_?"

Ignoring Dice's final remark, Artemis ordered, "Good enough, people. Leave your drinks in the car – lids closed. I don't want any spills on the upholstery." Mongrel put his drink in the back seat – tightening the lid for good measure. Chaz threw his empty cup in the dumpster. Dice took the iced tea Artemis had bought her, not even half-finished, looked him in the eyes, and purposely threw it in the dumpster as well. Turning away, she followed Mongrel and Chaz down the sidewalk. "_Perfect,"_ he thought before following, "_this just keeps getting better."_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Just a short little fill-in chapter designed to showcase Artemis's leadership/tactical skills. Next chapter promises to have some action in it (finally). Thanks to those who have followed the story so far - the fun stuff's coming up.**


	5. Ep 1: Chaz's First Mission, Part 5

**Ep. 1) Part 5**

**(Stilwater, April 08, 2011, approx 10:15pm)**

"_Perfect,"_ Dice thought as a wide grin formed on her lips, "_this just keeps getting better!"_

Her opponent was an older Hispanic man - bald with a full beard and just shy of six feet. His clothes - a brown shirt and light tan trousers – were dirty, but not as torn up as one would expect from someone living constantly on the streets. He was currently swinging a three foot piece of wood that had been taped at the end to give him a better grip. The man had strength, but not good aim. Dice dodged low to the right to avoid his first swing, then righted herself while backing up a step to avoid his second attempt. He overextended himself and gave her an opening.

Baby, her dark pink crowbar, connected with a well-placed blow to the shoulder of her assailant. The man grunted and tried to use a backswing to repel her. She merely ducked – sometimes being five-foot-two did have its advantages - and used all her strength to swing Baby upward onto her opponent's now exposed chin. A solid thud was her reward. The man backpedalled and then collapsed, dropping his makeshift weapon.

Dice paused and stared at the man. Her blow had landed pretty hard and for a moment she thought she had accidently killed him. The few working lights on the lot made it difficult, but she was finally able to see the man's ragged breath. He was out; he would have a hell of a headache – maybe even a cracked jaw, but he was alive.

When they had first arrived, the Saints crew had spotted seven vagrants occupying a small side lot - a private parking area by the looks of it - behind a grayish-green brick building. Four were around a large couch while three others leaned against a concrete divider separating this lot from a larger one to the east.

Even in the bad light, Artemis had been able to tell that the squatters were a bit too well-fed for normal vagrants and called them out. He had demanded to know where their boss was so he could 'discuss' the current situation with him. This had only brought peals of laughter from some of the larger squatters. One of the men told an older black woman to go warn someone named Skeeve about the Saints being here. She ran off while the other six individuals quickly grabbed up melee weapons and charged them. One of the bigger assailants now lay unconscious at her feet.

Dice glanced around at her fellow crew members. In front of her, Artemis dodged a vicious swing of a club by a bald white guy. The thug was shirtless, but covered in dirt as were his blue jeans and tennis shoes. Artemis punched the man in the face with a quick right jab then followed through with a left hook. The shirtless man went down to a knee. Artemis pushed the man over, then sent a solid kick to the man's face. The man went prone.

"Just wanted to talk, but no," Artemis said derisively, "ya'll just _had_ to do this the hard way." Despite her earlier anger at him, Dice couldn't help but smile at Artemis. He was always calm, even in a fight like this, and he always had some smart-ass comment.

Twelve feet to her right, Chaz was fighting a scrawny young Asian guy or girl with a grimy shirt that _may_ have been white at one time and equally grimy jeans. His opponent was so rail-thin, that he - or she – even made Chaz look built by comparison.

Checking to her left, Dice spotted Mongrel up against two opponents. The first was a short man in his early thirties with a white shirt and grungy grey track pants. The second was a large, hefty man with short brown hair and a large mustache. He had on a worn leather jacket with some words too faded to read on the back.

The large man had a bat similar to Mongrel's. He swung low trying to trip Mongrel up, but the tall Saint was too quick and merely hopped over it. Mongrel had been an amateur wrestler in high school – not that fake crap on television - and seemed to have been trained in hand-to-hand combat or martial arts. Had events not dictated otherwise, he could have gone on to college with a full scholarship or maybe even joined the armed forces. Toe-to-toe Dice had never seen him beaten. She _almost_ felt sorry for the two men he now faced.

Mongrel's smaller opponent had a two foot length of rebar which he swung chaotically. Mongrel side-stepped the smaller man and pushed him sideways knocking him off balance into a chain-link fence. The large thug came at Mongrel again. Mongrel dodged wide to the left then reached over the large man's swing and slapped him in the side of the face with an open palm. Angered, the large man tried to punch Mongrel with his off-hand. Mongrel blocked the attack with his bat causing his opponent to cry out in pain and momentarily remove him from the fight.

The smaller man charged Mongrel, swinging wide. Mongrel again dodged the attack then closed in quickly with the man throwing him off-balance with a shoulder rush. The smaller opponent was flung backwards by the blow, hit the chain link fence, and finally rebounded back at Mongrel. Mongrel was ready and swung his bat two-handed catching the smaller man square in the jaw. His opponent was knocked backwards so hard that his feet came two-and-a-half feet off the ground. The smaller man crumpled in a heap right at the base of the chain-link fence.

The larger man had recovered by this time and brought his bat down hard on Mongrel's weapon knocking it from his grasp. The big man swung at Mongrel's mid-section, but the Saint had the wherewithal to dodge backward and avoid the crippling blow. Off-balance, the large man swung the bat backwards with his right hand, missing clumsily but giving Mongrel the opening to close the distance. He grabbed the man's wrist with his left hand, pulled him forward and backslapped him painfully across the face with his right. The large man was stunned by the blow, but Mongrel wasn't done yet. Maintaining his hold, Mongrel pulled him in again and punched him square in the chest with his right fist causing the man to gasp for breath. Finally releasing his opponent, Mongrel pulled his right fist back, aimed, and smashed it forward on his staggered foe's jaw. The man collapsed and did not move again.

"Yeah, babe!" Dice cried excitedly. "You show them who's boss – YEEP!" The last was uttered as she was grabbed by the back of the hair and pulled off-balance. She dropped Baby and stumbled backwards. A solid blow landed in her back causing her to cry out in pain. Dice reached up behind her head and managed to grasp the wrist of whoever was attacking her but had no leverage to do anything about it.

A thumping noise sounded behind her and suddenly Dice's unseen opponent released her causing her to stumble again. Managing to catch herself, Dice turned and saw a brown haired woman unconscious on the ground. Standing above her fallen opponent was Artemis holding one of his guns by the barrel.

"You need to pay more attention, Lil Sister," he chastised.

Despite the situation, Dice still grinned at him. "You're the boss," she affirmed. "You're supposed to take care of us."

"C'mon. Let's help the newbie," Artemis ordered, giving her an exasperated look. He indicated Chaz, who, by this time, had managed to back his opponent up against the concrete divider. Chaz swung low and caught the scrawny person solidly in the leg with his bat. His victim let out a high-pitched squeal.

"Aw damn!" Chaz yelled. "I just busted up a girl!" He looked genuinely sorry and backed off.

"That isn't a girl," remarked Artemis as Dice and he approached. "That's a guy – a guy named Checkers. How you doing, Checkers?" The last was addressed to the scrawny hoodlum as he sat clutching his knee.

"Oh, hey… hey d'ere, Art… Artemis," the scrawny Asian man stuttered. "What's up?"

"You're not supposed to be here, Checkers," Artemis admonished. "You know that. Marlon got you doing his running down here now?"

"Yeah, I don't run wit him no more, see?" Checkers looked nervously about as he stood up. "I got me a, uh, good hook-up now." He scanned the area looking for any friends of his that might still be standing. When only Mongrel showed up he seemed less than thrilled.

"Well, your new crew doesn't seem too effective, now does it?" Artemis looked him straight in the eyes. "Who's in charge here? Why are you attacking Saints in Shivington? This is our territory now."

"Wha… it is?" Checkers replied. "Our bad. Well, Harley is the one ya want ta talk to." He indicated the large man that Mongrel had downed. "I don't know if your boy here killed him or what, but that's who's in charge, yeah."

"I'm calling bullshit on that one," Dice stated firmly. "Harley or whatever his name is told a lady to go warn someone named Skeeve when we first got here." She leaned forward. "My money says that this Skeeve person is in charge."

"Oh, Checkers," Artemis began, "you lying to me?" He did his best _I'm hurt_ look and shook his head. "Now what do you suppose I should be inclined to do if I found out you've been lying to me?" Artemis got a purple handkerchief out of his right breast pocket and started polishing his custom GDHC.50.

Checkers's eyes widened considerably as he looked at the pistol. "No need… no need fer dat!" He held his hands up defensively. "I was thinkin' you was meanin' here, yeah! Cuz, well, Harley's in charge here, see? Like this spot right here."

"I'm not seeing a point coming up anytime soon," Artemis said dryly.

"Yeah, and I'm bored," Dice said with a long sigh. She walked over to Baby, picked it up from where it had fallen and then returned. "I know you said that we aren't supposed to kill these shits, but look, I was good right?" Dice pouted and shifted her weight to one hip doing her _good girl _impression. "Can't I just kill this one? He doesn't seem that important." She fluttered her eyes at Artemis. "Let me kill'em, please, boss."

"Whoa, whoa!" exclaimed Checkers.

"I don't see him as being that useful," Artemis agreed. "I guess you could…"

"No, no! NOOOO!" interrupted Checkers. "I know shit. I pay _attention_!" Checkers was nodding his head up and down. "Yeah, Skeeve's in charge, see? Harley's his… uh, what is it… point man, yeah?"

"You tell me," Artemis said, "you're the one spinning this yarn."

"He's meeting with the others up that way, see?" Checkers indicated a far northern lot next to a rundown grey apartment building about eighty yards away. "A little bidness… that's it."

"Bored now," sighed Dice again as she twirled her pink crowbar.

"No, see, there's an important meeting, yeah," Checkers continued on trying not to follow Baby's movements. "Ya'll picked a good night. The Sons are there and they're meeting with Skeeve and the rest of the crew."

Dice and Artemis exchanged quick glances with each other. Artemis nodded then said, "I think Dice is right. It's all bullshit."

"Naw, man… I mean Artemis," Checkers was just blustering now. "It's fer real! Taibot's there with two of his boys and Skeeve's very happy ta see'em. Skeeve wants the Sons to have Shivington." He paused. "No offense, ya know? I mean… I personally like you an' all, cuz, yeah, yer unnerstandin' of people and forgivin' of their misdeeds, yeah?"

Dice's stomach clenched at the mention of Taibot. She almost lost control of her crowbar, but managed to recover nicely. She glanced at Artemis who kept his eyes locked on Checkers, but she had run with him a long time. He wasn't polishing his gun anymore; rather it was held low at his side, his thumb instinctively resting on the safety ready to flick it off at a moment's notice.

"No more crap, Checkers," Artemis pressed. "How many of your boys are there? How many Samedi?"

"Uh, yeah, well like I said," Checkers began, "Taibot's got two Sons with him. Then there's Skeeve and the rest of our crew… Jon, Ralph, uh, two others I don't know… and also Patty and Suzie." He paused for a second. "Oh, and Kassa, the old lady that Harley sent to warn Skeeve."

"That it?" demanded Artemis. Checkers nodded. "Then get your punk-ass outta here!" Artemis pointed his gun at Checkers's face. "Leave and don't come back, son, or I will find you."

Checkers smiled and nodded again. He eased past the Saints and headed west, away from the small private parking lot. Only when he was out of sight did Dice address Artemis.

"Taibot? What the fuck?" she started. "I thought this was just some bums or something."

Artemis kept his gaze focused near the spot where Checkers disappeared. "Yeah," he muttered with a slight nod, "it was." He tried not to show it, but Dice could tell he was worried. He put so much on his own shoulders and tried to keep everyone safe - she admired him for that, despite all their arguments.

"Who's Taibot?" asked Chaz.

"We calling for back-up, Artemis?" Mongrel inquired.

"No," said Artemis, "there's no back-up. We're it."

"What the fuck?" Dice exclaimed as she started forward. Mongrel grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back. She looked up at him as he shook his head. She backed down with a huff.

"What's the plan, Artemis?" Mongrel asked.

"Taibot's bad, isn't he?" Chaz piped in as he glanced around at each of them. "That's why you're not sayin' anything, isn't it?"

"He's bad enough," admitted Mongrel. "He isn't Mr. Sunshine, but he's dangerous."

Chaz looked at Artemis, worry on his face.

"It's like this," Artemis began. "The General is the leader of the Sons of Samedi. Below him were two major lieutenants – Mr. Sunshine and Veteran Child. The Boss and Shaundi wasted Veteran Child not that long ago, leaving just Mr. Sunshine to deal with."

"_Just_," interjected Dice dryly.

Ignoring her, Artemis continued. "Veteran Child wasn't much of a problem, but he did take care of some of the Sons' important business ventures. To fill the gap left by his absence, the General promoted some of the more effective Sons to higher positions. None of them are equal to Mr. Sunshine, or even Veteran Child for that matter, but Mongrel's right. They are dangerous."

"So they're like what… minor lieutenants?" Chaz asked trying to grasp the concept. "How many are there?"

"Minor lieutenants sounds about right," Artemis agreed. "As to how many there are…" He looked to Dice and Mongrel.

"There's the Jamaican," Mongrel said, a hint of anger in his words. Obviously there was bad blood of some kind between the Jamaican and Mongrel.

Artemis nodded, "One of the General's worst men. He's some type of ex-military guy. Brutal."

"San-Pierre… or is it Sain-Pierre?" Dice offered.

"San-Pierre," Artemis corrected. "A Haitian war criminal who has studied the technical side of hoodoo. He's directly under the General, but also works closely with Mr. Sunshine."

"And San-Pierre's enforcer, Jaquel," Mongrel added. "He's loyal, but dangerous."

"Tedmore?" Dice asked.

"No," Artemis shook his head. "Pierce said Shaundi mentioned him as one of the Samedi that was with Veteran Child when the Boss rescued her at On Track."

"Oh," she said. "Dude's a grease-stain now, I guess."

"The Magic Man," Mongrel said.

"Oh, yeah," Dice replied with a shudder. "**That** dude's creepy."

Artemis nodded. "And Mr. Sunshine's second. He aids Mr. Sunshine in almost all of his messed up voodoo rituals." He paused. "And finally there's Taibot. A brutal little thug who worked his way up through the Sons to command his own crew."

"Sort of like you," offered Chaz, "uh, except without the brutal thug part."

"No, he's higher in authority than me comparatively. I'm more equivalent to a member of his crew – Mance, Gressor, Gaede…"

"I shot Gaede!" Dice exclaimed.

"Yeah, but Stammer killed him," Mongrel interjected with a grin.

"Only cuz I weakened his punk-ass…" Dice muttered indignantly.

"Look," Artemis said, trying to regain control of the conversation, "we've wasted enough time. Skeeve and his crew have been warned and we're outnumbered nearly three to one."

"If you can believe that Checkers guy," Mongrel said, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

"If there's one thing about Checkers," Artemis said, "it's that he _always_ pays attention to whoever he's running with. Mostly so he can spill his guts if he's captured by an enemy gang like us. Checkers is a survivor. I trust his info even if he is scum."

"Then we're facing eleven people, Artemis," Mongrel said. "Eleven. And if Taibot's involved…"

"Yeah, it may get messy." Artemis looked down at the thugs Mongrel beat. "However, friend, if you trust me, I may have a plan…"

Mongrel looked solemn as he said, "Always got faith in you."

"Good, then here's what we do…"

* * *

><p><strong>AN - so what's Artemis's plan... and will it work? or will yet _another_ thing go wrong for the crew?**

**Sorry for the long overdue bit of action in a story based off of, ya know, an Action game. Thanks to everyone who has followed and stayed with the story so far.**


	6. Ep 1: Chaz's First Mission, Part 6

**Ep. 1) Part 6**

** (Shivington Neighborhood, Stilwater, April 08, 2011, approx 10:45 pm)**

"I don't like this plan, Artemis," Dice said from the shadows.

"Keep it down, Lil Sister," Artemis whispered as he peered around the pair of dumpsters the two of them were hiding behind. Dice, Chaz and he had circled around and came in from the north.

From this side of the alley, Artemis and Dice both had a clear view of the rear entrance of the grey apartment building Checkers had indicated as well as the members of his gang who were currently guarding it. There were six… no seven people milling around the back entrance of the apartment building. Three were around an old metal trashcan with a fire burning inside. The other four were by the open doorway itself. They were clearly illuminated by a light just above the doorframe. Kassa, the woman Harley had sent to warn the others, was here talking to a heavyset white guy in his early fifties with a gray ponytail and beard wearing black jeans and a leather jacket that said 'Stilwater Bike Club' on the back. Dice would bet anything that this was Skeeve, leader of the gang.

Across the alley, hunkered down near a wooden telephone pole, was Chaz. The light at the top of the pole was burned out (or maybe just missing – one could never tell in Shivington) and kept the area well-shadowed.

The sound of a car coming down the darkened side street behind them made Artemis press in tight against the rusty dumpster. He instinctively put a hand out to hold Dice back as the headlights weakly lit up the area. As the car slowly drove pass, Dice heard him swear under his breath. She turned just in time to make out the shape of the police lights on top of the car before it vanished behind a large mustard yellow building.

"_Damn,"_ she thought, "_the Boss was right – the police are definitely scouring the Projects District."_

Artemis tapped her on the shoulder and pointed toward the large lot behind the grey apartment building. Dice squinted. She could barely make out a large figure south of the lot stumbling towards the enemy gang members. The figure was wearing a worn leather jacket and was holding a large rag against his head. The rag had a large dark stain on it.

"The Saints!" the figure called out in a high-pitched voice that trembled slightly. "They fucked us up! They're coming!"

The man with the ponytail called out, "Harley?"

"I can't see!" mumbled the large figure stumbling closer. "Cut me above the eyes!" The figure fell for a second then regained his feet. "Above the eyes…" his voice trailed off.

The figure was, of course, Mongrel dressed in Harley's jacket and a rag smeared with grease. "_Damn, he's doing great – getting real close,"_ Dice thought but she was definitely worried – she wasn't happy leaving him out there all alone. She didn't know what she'd do if something happened to Mongrel – he was her best friend in the world and more important to her than he realized. She pushed the thought out of her mind as Artemis nodded at her. It was the signal. They crept quickly along the east side of the alley towards the gang members careful to avoid any cans, bottles, or other debris that might give away their positions – stealth was too vital. Chaz stayed where he was at – just as Artemis had instructed.

"Well, don't just stand there," the man with the ponytail yelled, "help him!"

Two of the men moved toward Mongrel, one calling out, "Gotcha, Skeeve!" Dice nodded - just like she thought.

"What's going on here?" said a new figure emerging from the doorway behind Skeeve and Kassa. He was tall and thin with curly brown hair – and dressed in Samedi greens.

Artemis and Dice stopped immediately and crouched as low as they could. Dice recognized him – it was Gressor, one of Taibot's crew.

Skeeve turned to Gressor and said, "It's Harley! They cut him up pretty bad!" Mongrel finally stopped, went down to a knee and made whimpering noises. Gressor marched with determination toward Mongrel. Artemis indicated to Dice to continue moving.

Gressor brushed past the other two men who had been approaching Mongrel's position. "How many of them were there?" Gressor demanded as he closed in. "C'mon, you! Answer me!" Gressor reached down toward the disguised Saint.

Mongrel let the rag drop and lashed out as hard as he could with his right fist - his aim was true. He connected with Gressor's left knee full force – Dice heard the knee snap across the lot. Gressor dropped and screamed with pain. Mongrel sprang to his feet with incredible speed and charged the two men behind the fallen Son of Samedi.

"What…?" Skeeve got out just as Mongrel reached the first man, a young Korean in his early twenties. The man had just enough time to scream in terror as Mongrel leapt off his feet, drew his right arm back and smashed his fist forward as he landed. The young Korean's head snapped backwards and he dropped immediately. As he landed, Mongrel went with the momentum, crouching down. He shot his left hand at an upward angle, palm open, into the bottom of the chin of the second man, a short white guy. The man's head also snapped backwards and he stumbled back three steps before falling over.

"Now!" yelled Artemis as he stood and ran toward the surprised thugs. Dice charged, screaming as loud as she could.

"Get'em Saints!" Chaz cried out from further up the alley. He, too, began charging the thugs.

"They're… they're all over!" cried a white woman with a wool knit cap. She hesitated for less than a second, and then bolted through the open doorway. The older woman, Kassa, threw down her club and hurried after her fleeing companion.

"Get'em!" barked Skeeve. "This is our chance to prove ourselves to the Samedi!" He grabbed up a bat and charged towards Artemis. A heavyset woman in drab clothing and a white guy with a mustache and a brown baseball cap seized clubs and also attacked.

Artemis slowed and let the enemy leader come at him. Dice, however, screamed like a banshee as she charged full speed past them drawing her dark pink crowbar back. Right before she reached the mustached man she swung the crowbar forward. Her timing was perfect. She connected with the man's left shoulder dropping him to his knees as he cried out. She raised her crowbar again and smashed it down on his upper back driving him face first into the ground.

The heavyset woman closed in, swung and was able to connect with her club, striking Dice along her right elbow. Dice cried out in pain as her right arm went numb. She lost her grip on Baby and the crowbar fell to the ground. She turned aside causing her opponent's second swing to miss. Dice forced herself to backpedal on the uneven blacktop. The heavyset woman pressed her advantage and prepared to swing again. Dice slipped on some loose gravel and braced herself for her attacker's next blow.

"Get off my crew, you fat bi-atch!" Chaz screamed as he finally made it into the fight. The heavyset woman turned just in time to get a face-full of his bat. She spun sideways from Chaz's blow and then thudded to the pavement. "Aw damn!" Chaz yelled. "I busted up a woman for real this time!"

"No, it's okay," Dice said. "You did just – Chaz! Look out!" The last she screamed as three more men charged from the grey building's doorway. She tried to grab him, but was not in time.

A stocky man in a blue hoodie smashed a pipe into the back of Chaz's knees dropping him to all fours. Another man rushed past him and swung at Dice with a hammer. She recognized her assailant.

He was dressed in Samedi green, about six feet tall with unwashed brown hair and glassy brown eyes. His face had numerous pock-marks indicating he had had a bad bout with chickenpox at some point in his life. Added to this was a bad skin condition – he always seemed to have several scabs on his arms. Finally, the way his brown and yellow teeth had rotted meant he used some form of drugs, perhaps more than one kind. In all, he was a disgusting excuse of a man.

"_Mange_, you slimy ass," Dice said, purposely mispronouncing his name as she flexed her right arm. She needed to buy some time to get feeling back in it. "How the fuck you doing?"

"That's Mance, you stupid little cunt," he spat. "How 'bout I lay you out?" He swung the hammer hard.

Dice barely moved in time to avoid the blow. "Nah, you'd probably just give me some disease I couldn't pronounce."

"Fucking bitch!" he growled. "I'm gonna knock you senseless, then take my time with you – nice and slow." His eyes sparkled with anticipation at the thought. He pulled back to strike.

Dice moved in as Mance swung. His right arm slammed into her left side and she pinned it there with her left elbow. Mustering as much strength as she could, she jabbed with her weakened right fist. The connecting blow was less than impressive.

"That was it?" Mance laughed. He was so amused he didn't even bother trying to pull his arm free. "You Saints are pathetic, useless, little fucks!" He laughed again.

A familiar wave of heat washed over Dice. "Die!" she screamed. "Die!" She dug her right hand into Mance's face. He shrieked as her nails tore through his flesh leaving bloody trails across his cheeks and nose. He grabbed at her hand and tried to twist her off, but she was too vicious. The more he struggled, the more she clawed - the more he cried out, the deeper she dug in.

A gunshot rang out, snapping Dice out of her maddened assault. Mance squirmed away and fell on his side in his haste to get away from the crazy girl. Dice looked over and her heart sank.

A man was standing above Chaz. He was a short, but solid, black man of Haitian descent in his late twenties with short dreadlocks and a light beard. He had the bridge of his nose pierced with a gold studded bar and a similarly colored ring pierced his lower lip. He wore the colors of the Sons of Samedi and the black and green arm band he had indicated he was a trusted soldier amongst them. It was Taibot and he had an NR4 pointed three inches from the back of Chaz's head. A smoking hole in the ground right near Chaz's knee showed where he had fired the warning shot.

"Dat's better," the Samedi lieutenant purred smoothly. "You all just need to stop dis foolishness." Chaz whimpered at his feet. "See, ya made me scare da poor boy. Now why don' you Saints jus' give yourselves…"

A loud click stopped Taibot mid-sentence. It was Artemis who was twelve feet behind the Samedi. He had one of his custom pistols in his left hand. The safety had just been clicked off and he had the gun aimed at the base of Taibot's skull.

"Shut the hell up!" Artemis demanded.

Mance moved slowly, trying to right himself so he could stand up.

In one fluid motion, Artemis drew his other custom GDHC.50 with his right hand and aimed it directly at Mance's head without taking his eyes off Taibot. "I will spray what's left of your fucked up face all over the parking lot, son," Artemis announced. "I suggest you sit the hell still!" Mance made no further movement.

Dice glanced around to see who was still standing. The man with the blue hoodie that dropped Chaz was standing close to Taibot. Except for Artemis, Taibot and blue-hoodie-guy, the only other person standing was Mongrel, "O_f course,"_ she thought.

"It seems we're at an impasse, Saint," said Taibot with a curl of his lip. "Perhaps we should…"

"Shut your punk-ass up and listen, Samedi bitch!" Artemis growled. "Do you know who I am? The name's Artemis."

Taibot didn't answer but his shoulders tensed up. The action was not lost on Artemis.

"Oh, I see you do!" Artemis exclaimed. "Good! That'll make this much easier. Let me _tell_ you how this is gonna work out. You **will** put the safety on your weapon. You **will** lower your arm. Then you **will** place your gun on the ground. If you do anything…"

"You think I'm gonna…" Taibot started.

Artemis spoke over him, "If you do anything else, including interrupt me again, I will _end_ you, son. Do you understand me?" Artemis waited for a second, then said "You may speak now."

"You think I will trust you, Saint," Taibot growled. "What's to stop you from shooting me anyway?"

"If you've heard of me, then you know my rep," Artemis said. "I'm one of the best goddamned shots there is with a handgun – true - but, I also keep my word. If you know me at all, you know that's also true. I give you my word that if you put up your weapons, then you all, including your little thugs can walk away. Your choice."

"Why don't you just shoot the little prick, Taibot?" Mance called out. "One of us will get him," he indicated Artemis with a nod of his head, "then he and his little buddy will both be dead."

"You think I actually care about this noob?" Artemis asked. "Seriously, I don't give a shit about his punk ass! I mean look at him – boy's just been canonized. Look at the bruises he has." Despite their precarious situation, Taibot and Mance both glanced at Chaz. "Boy's first mission and he already screws it up!"

"Artemis…?" Chaz looked up, concern upon his face.

"Shut up, Max!" Artemis ordered.

"My name's Chaz, why…"

"I don't care what your name is, you useless prick!" Artemis yelled. "I was told no shooting by the Boss herself, but no!" He paused then shrugged his shoulders while still covering the Samedi. "Ya know what? Screw it! Kill Max or whoever – go on! Boss'll be pissed at first cuz I lost a newly canonized Saint. However, when I tell her that it became necessary to shoot you two motherfuckers then… yeah!"

He laughed. "Hell, my street cred will be off the charts! Yeah, forget Pierce! Forget Carlos! I'll be up there with Gat and the Boss lady herself! She'll be all 'Artemis, you're the shit! You take care of the Samedi. Shaundi'll be your bitch!'" He looked almost speculative. "Yeah, little Shaundi's tight ass, mmm! And she'll be _my_ bitch. Fuck it, I could live with that." He nodded, refocused on Taibot and aimed his gun closer. "Yeah, fuck it!"

"A'ight!" Taibot cried out as he quickly flicked the safety back on. "Calm down, mon." He lowered the gun away from Chaz and slowly put it on the ground. "We done here! You win!"

"What? No!" Artemis cried.

"You gave your word, mon," Taibot called out. "Ya gotta let us go!"

Artemis paused for a moment then said, "What the hell ever… Get outta here, Samedi bitches. Leave your weapons, but take your goons." With a nod of his head, he indicated Skeeve and his thugs.

Taibot nodded but said nothing. He pointed to Skeeve who was lying on the ground holding his head and jerked his thumb backwards. Those who could move did, while those who were too busted up – Mongrel's victims in particular – were helped by their companions. As they were leaving, Taibot stopped, turned his head and nodded in Artemis's direction. This wasn't over yet.

After the Samedi had gone, Dice picked up Baby and helped a shaken Chaz off the ground.

"I was worried for a second, boss," Dice admitted. "Good thing you were lying about all that shit."

"Not everything was a lie," Artemis confessed.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," he replied with a smile. "Shaundi does have a tight ass."

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><p><strong>AN: Have the crew actually made it out of trouble, yet? Find out in the next part of Episode 1!**

**Please rate/review to let me know how I'm doing. Thanks.**


	7. Ep 1: Chaz's First Mission, Part 7

**Ep:1 Part 7**

** Shivington Neighborhood, Projects District, Stilwater**

** April 08, 2011 – approx 11:30pm**

The four Saints made their way quietly across the vacant grass lot. They had already traversed two short alleys and a large parking lot.

"I'm telling you," Dice said holding Chaz by the arm, "he doesn't look good."

"I can… I can… make it," Chaz panted. "I… make it."

"We can't linger," Artemis said looking around. The entire affair with the Samedi and their thugs had taken way too long. "We gotta go."

"Artemis!" Mongrel called out. He pointed down the curving eastern road in front of them. A police car was just leaving a short side road and turning toward them.

"Move people!" Artemis whispered loudly. They hastened south toward a grey brick building with broken windows. They skirted it, passed a dumpster and were heading toward the southern street when they spotted another police car slowly creeping along it heading east.

"Jesus!" Dice cried out. "They're everywhere - aah!"

Artemis grabbed her and pulled her backwards. The four Saints hunkered down by the dumpster. Artemis looked around. They were two apartment buildings and a parking lot away from his car. Couldn't they just get a break _for once_?

The lights on the vehicle in front of them suddenly flared to life and the siren wailed loudly. Artemis readied his pistols. He heard the siren of the police car behind him come on as well. They were trapped.

"Do nothing 'til I start, people," Artemis ordered his crew. He heard their guns cock and safeties click off. The police car in front made a tight u-turn – it headlights flashed quickly over them. They braced themselves.

None of them were prepared, however, when the police car suddenly finished a complete 180, then accelerated and headed west along the road. They exchanged furtive glances in the dim illumination granted by the streetlights several yards off.

When the siren of the car behind them started to diminish in intensity as well, Artemis ordered, "Move people!" He took off at a brisk trot. Getting to the street, he glanced in either direction. Only a few people were out right now, the majority of which stood either directly outside the Brown Baggers to the east or were at the covered bus stop near the convenient store. "Pieces away!" he barked and slid his pistols into their holsters under his jacket. The rest of his crew did the same as they caught up to him. Chaz hunched over, hands on his knees.

"Chaz…?" Dice started.

"Let's go," Artemis said heading east. "Keep up!" His crew followed. A couple of the people in front of Brown Baggers glanced over as they approached but quickly dismissed them. The four Saints just got to the end of the alley in which their car was parked when they heard gunfire coming from the west. The two people waiting at the covered bus stop pointed behind them. In unison the four Saints turned.

"Go, go, go!" Artemis commanded, waving his fellow Saints into the alley as several sets of headlights off to the west grew brighter. He could see the bright flashes of weapon fire most of which was coming from the lead car - a tricked out, purple Magma convertible with the top down. Behind it, were two green Danvilles - a heavy 1970s model of car. Behind them all were at least three sets of flashing police lights. He followed the other Saints as the gunfire grew louder.

Running toward his Stiletto, Artemis hazarded a look back at the alley's entrance. He saw the two people at the bus stop stand and start running away. A woman screamed somewhere across the street. Suddenly the purple Magma flew into view, squealing on two tires as it was forced to take the corner at an extremely high speed. In the front passenger seat was a blonde female Saint Artemis couldn't quite make out. She was firing a pistol behind the vehicle while hanging out the side. In the back seat was Anthony, another Saint, his red hair in a ponytail, firing an SMG back over the collapsed roof. The driver, however, was none other than the Boss herself. She was firing a GAL 43 on full auto backwards over her head.

As enemy gunfire ricocheted off her fast muscle car's reinforced frame and whizzed past her head, the Saints' leader defiantly cried out, "Is that the best you got?"

Despite her high speed and the overall chaos of the situation, the Boss made the corner – mostly. The tail end of the car pulled a bit too far left and bent a sign – ironically one that showed the speed limit for the road was only 30mph. She then sped off south. Neither of the heavy Danvilles was so fortunate.

The first Samedi car skidded and tried to turn right. Instead it wobbled unsteadily, plowing through the (now empty) covered bus stop and smashed nose first into the empty drugstore attached to the Brown Baggers.

The second green Danville was actually on fire as it raced past Artemis's rapidly diminishing view of the alley's end. It completely missed the drug store, Brown Baggers and the turn itself as it drove into a small lot east of the convenient store. Although Artemis lost sight of the Samedi car, a large explosion sounded less than a second later – indicating its demise.

The first Danville's tires squealed as its driver quickly put it in reverse. Despite their damage, the Samedi seemed eager to catch up to the Boss. They wouldn't get the chance. The Samedi's car crashed backwards right into the first police car that had finally arrived. The second police car smashed into the first. The third managed to avoid the whole mess, but had to slam on its brakes hard. It wasn't damaged but ended up turned the wrong way and would not be able to extricate itself from the area before the Boss was long gone. Angry police officers got out of their cars with their guns drawn and screamed at the stunned Samedi.

Artemis smiled to himself as he turned his attention to the dimly lit alley in front of him. He trotted out of sight of the disaster behind him and caught up with his crew.

Mongrel was standing next to the dumpster awaiting his approach. Dice was next to Chaz, patting him on the back. Chaz was doubled over in pain and apparently vomiting up the soda Artemis had gotten him earlier.

"What…?" Artemis inquired.

"I think having a gun pointed at his head for the first time has made him sick," Dice said without looking up.

"I'm… uk…" Chaz started between breaths, "…sorry… I'm sorry."

"We need to go! Everyone get in!" Artemis stated aloud. He got into his car and started the engine.

Dice looked at him. "Give it a rest. He's sick."

"I, uh," Mongrel hesitated. "I can't deal with someone, uh, you know." He looked pale.

_"Mongrel can smack a man's head off and crush another man's knee, but __**this**__ shit bothers him?"_ thought Artemis silently to himself then he said, "Mongrel up front with me. You two in the back." His crew did as they were told, although Chaz still seemed a bit uneasy.

Artemis kept the lights off as he eased forward out of the northern end of the alley. He pulled carefully onto the connecting road; only then did he switch his headlights on.

"No puking in the car back there," Artemis ordered Chaz. Chaz gave a weak thumbs-up but was still pale. Artemis drove his prearranged route to lose anyone that might be following them, but no one was.

As they turned around and headed back toward the Saints Hideout, Dice said to Chaz, "Not so bad for your first mission, huh?"

Chaz just stared at her.

Dice said with a grin, "This is what being a Saint is all about!"


	8. Ep 1: Chaz's First Mission, Epilogue

**Ep. 1 Epilog**

**This chap is based off of the cutscene Eye of the Beholder from the Sons of Samedi storyline in case you wanted to check it out for reference.**

**I own nothing but my original characters.**

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><p><strong>Unknown rooftop, somewhere near Shivington, Projects District, Stilwater<strong>

**April 09, 2011, early morning**

His real name was known only to a few, a handful in the Caribbean, even less here in Stilwater.

He was a handsome man with a smooth dark complexion to his skin, a well-toned physique, and hazel eyes. He was dressed as elegantly as ever: a white suit, immaculately clean and pressed, an expensive green silk shirt, and three platinum and emerald necklaces. A series of four large rings on the fingers of his left hand and a silk handkerchief tucked into left breast pocket completed his ensemble.

Here he was known simply as the General, feared leader of the Sons of Samedi, and he was not pleased.

The Saints, the accursed gang from five years ago, had returned. They thought they needed to disrupt his business. They thought they could ruin his drug trade. They thought they could fight his soldiers. To some degree, he grudgingly admitted, they were right. He had already lost his most influential local lieutenant, Veteran Child, to their leader.

Though not as powerful as Mr. Sunshine, or even some of the General's lesser soldiers, Veteran Child had been known to the masses. He had gotten college kids hooked on the Loa Dust provided by the Samedi's drug labs. He and his pushers had brought money into the Son of Samedi's network. Now, he was dead – killed by the leader of the Saints. The General needed to recruit more pushers to fill in the vacancies, maybe even from the college students themselves, but that idea would have to wait.

A ship's horn sounded somewhere from the river north of their position as the General and three of his most trusted men reached the top of the building. He waved them to hold back as he went onto the roof. A lone figure stared westward at the columns of smoke rising from the middle of Shivington. Wearing a dark jacket and with his dreads pulled through the back of his green cap, the General knew it was Mr. Sunshine. He approached his second-in-command.

"What are you thinking, my friend?" the General's voice was deep and smooth as he spoke.

"It's beautiful," Mr. Sunshine wondered aloud.

"And expensive," the General added dryly.

"More money will come," the voodoo master assured him.

"You had best be right," the Samedi leader replied. "Between the farm and this fire we cannot afford to have anything go wrong with our next shipment."

"Don't worry, General, the shipment will be safe."

The General, for all his power and influence, started to have his doubts. "These Saints are proving themselves to be quite the nuisance," he said.

"Then perhaps," Mr. Sunshine responded as he kept his gaze on the pillars of smoke, "it's time we speak to their leader…"

The General nodded and left Mr. Sunshine staring off into the distance. Mr. Sunshine would conduct matters his way, through his voodoo rituals, through his followers. The General, however, was a man built from war. His methods were more tactical, and sometimes, more direct. He walked back to the three powerful men awaiting him on the landing at the edge of the roof.

"Gentlemen," he began, polite as ever, "we have a problem. They call themselves the Saints. **You** will crush them."

"Yes, General," they said in unison.

He turned to the figure at the left, a man who only went by the moniker of the Jamaican. Like the General, the Jamaican's real name was not common knowledge. Perhaps it was better that way. He was tall and wiry but perhaps the most physically dangerous of any of the General's men. The Jamaican was a master of the Capoeira fighting style and highly skilled in many others. He had a violent streak that matched, if not surpassed, that of Mr. Sunshine, and yet was one of his most loyal followers. The General addressed him first.

"You will gather information for me. I need to know everything there is about the Saints: their hierarchy, their soldiers, allies they may have, and most importantly, their leader."

"Aye, General."

"Be subtle about it, though. I don't need word leaking to my enemies just yet. That is how we'll take the advantage – subtlety."

"It will be done as you say, General."

"Good," the General began as he pulled out an expensive cigar. "I also need some men. What were the names of the ones who helped in the Elysian Fields Trailer Park? Teege and Darco, correct? I want them for a special task."

At this the Jamaican paused with a hint of uncertainty. "There are better men I could provide, my General. Teege and Darco are skilled well enough, but there are others."

"No, they will do. But thank you, my friend." A hint of a smile appeared on the General's face. "I merely want to have a sit-down with my nemesis once you have provided the information that I requested. Teege and Darco will be sufficient for my needs."

"I will let them know at once," the Jamaican said, bowing low.

Nodding in approval, he turned to the middle man. The General's smile vanished immediately. The man started to speak only to be cut off by a wave of the General's hand.

"No, Taibot," he began. "I do not wish to hear what you have to say." He pulled out a double guillotine-style cigar cutter. "When I have what knowledge I need, you will organize and carry out an attack on the Saints' main hideout."

At this, the individual on the far right stepped forward. He was an average-sized white man, clean-shaven with short, dark hair. He had no piercings or tattoos and the only green on his person was a green tie he wore with his black button-down, silk shirt and dark grey suit. He was a sharp contrast in appearance to most of the General's trusted leaders. His name was San-Pierre.

"But, General," San-Pierre protested in a slight French/Haitian accent. "Taibot has already lost Shivington to the Saints. No disrespect, but are sure you want _him_ to lead the attack against the Saints' main stronghold?"

"My friend, I am pleased with your concern, but I want Taibot to do it." Turning to the middle man again, he continued. "You will use the bulk of your 'Shivington Bike Club' contacts to fill most of the positions for your attack." It was now Taibot's turn to protest.

"My General, why?" the short Samedi lieutenant asked. "Dey are not as skilled as my own men. Da leaders, Skeeve and Harley, have no experience is dese kinds of matters."

"Then you had best educate them seeing as how they will be leading the assault."

"What?" Taibot's voice rose considerably. "I thought you said I was to lead da attack, General."

"No, I said you were to organize and carry out the attack, but you will do it from a place of relative safety. If you are not confident with your hirelings taking charge of your assault, then use one of your own crew to do it. That way, in case the attack does not work for some reason, you will be intact enough to personally explain to me why you failed… _again_." With this last statement, the General clipped off the cap of the cigar with the cutter. The meaning was not lost on Taibot.

"But I have not replaced Gaede yet, and Gressor, well, his knee is broken. He cannot possibly do it."

"You only had two men leading your crew?" asked the General, raising an eyebrow.

"Da other is Mance," Taibot explained. "He's good in a fight, but not much for leadin'."

"Then I suggest you talk to Mr. Sunshine and pray to Baron Samedi that your men don't see him too soon – or you may."

"What about my other men, da other Samedi under me?"

"Ah, yes," the General smiled. "They will be put, temporarily of course, in San-Pierre's charge." Before Taibot could protest again, the General turned to San-Pierre. "You, my friend, will have the most difficult task of all."

"I am prepared for it, General," he said smiling wide.

"Don't be too confident, yet. You have a two-fold task. First, you will use Taibot's Samedi as well as the remainder of his hired street thugs to assault the Brotherhood. We need to expand our territory. Things have gotten too lax as of late. The Samedi need more room to spread. This I want prepared immediately."

"Done, General."

"Give our friend here," at this point their leader indicated the Jamaican, "two weeks to gather our information. After that time, your men will push the Saints back out of Shivington. The Saints will learn what it's like to cross the Sons of Samedi. Afterwards, I will 'meet' with their leader." He turned to Taibot. "While this is going on, you will begin your attack at the Saints' hideout."

Finally, he lit up his cigar as he addressed them all. "Planning and strategy is the key, my friends. We will take back that which was stolen from us. The Sons of Samedi shall prevail!"

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><p><strong>AN: Thus ends Episode 1: 'Chaz's First Mission'**

**I want to thank everyone who has followed my fic so far, especially ****_HeartWritingM_****, ****_shadow182angel_****, and ****_High Mage Lady Hawkmoon_**** for their reviews and ****_MangoSupaStar_**** for the Beta Read.**

**'Episode 2: History' is in the works and should start being posted sometime at the beginning of February. Thanks again! **


	9. Ep 2: History, Part 1

**A/N:**

**Warning: Rated M for scenes involving adult situations, excessive violence, and language.**

**There may be a good many of these in this episode; if these aren't your thing, please read no further as I don't want to offend anyone.**

**I own nothing but my Original Characters and my own ideas.**

**And now, on to our tale:**

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><p><em><strong>History…<strong>_

_**It's the one common denominator shared by everything – people, places, things. It's what shapes us and makes us what we are today. It's what prepared us for the present or took away our hope. It could be joyful, it could be cursed. It could be memories filled with laughter, or the very stuff of nightmares. We may carry on tomorrow or we may not live out the day. Not all of us may have a future, but everything and everyone has a past.**_

_**History, it's the only thing we can truly, truly call our own…**_

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><p><strong>Episode 2: History<strong>

**Part 1 **

**A random apartment, a few days later...**

**...**

**...**

A peal of thunder crashed loudly just as the engine of a Kenshin motorcycle was revving up. The combined noise was enough to wake Dice.

"Daddy?" she called out as she sat up on the bed.

She looked around for the motorcyclists that she thought were attacking her and was confused at first by the darkened walls of the unfamiliar bedroom lit only by the neon signs outside. The echo of the motorcycle driving away grew quieter as she slowly realized she was not outside the Rounds Square Shopping Center, where all the blood was, where all the death was, where her father...

A loud snore from the other occupant of the bed drew her attention. There was a large figure asleep with his back to her. Confused, she reached a tentative hand forward, the strap of her purple and black bra slipping off her right shoulder as she did so.

"Blake? Baby?" she called out with a quiet voice. The haze of sleep filled her with uncertainty.

The figure rolled over with a snort. In the dim neon light provided by the signs across the street she could see the man. He was large and heavyset with too many rolls of fat, man-boobs that put her own B-cup bust to shame, black unkempt hair, and a scraggly beard. In addition, he currently had drool dried across his pudgy nose.

Disgusted, Dice pulled back; it wasn't 2009 and that _definitely_ was not Blake. She wasn't with him anymore and needed to remember that. Looking around the small bedroom she tried to force herself fully awake.

With her companion's deep breathing as a cacophonous backdrop, Dice slowly got her bearings. The first things she sought and located were her weapons – the NR4 and her switchblade were sitting on a cheap-looking nightstand right next to the bed. Retrieving both, she became aware that the pistol's safety was off. She pulled the clip out and counted the bullets; they were all there, but where was her second clip?

All she had on at the moment was her bra, her short pink and purple socks, and her black panties currently tangled around her left ankle. She stood up and immediately stumbled on something on the ground. It was one of her tennis shoes. A small pile of clothes a few feet away indicated where the remainder of her clothes had been discarded. Baby, her custom dark pink crowbar, was laying next to the pile.

She sat on the side of the bed and started getting dressed. Luckily she found her other clip inside a pocket of her black baggy jeans. Her movements slowly roused her bedmate.

"Snuh-uh? You leave... you, leaving, uh, going, already? You gotta go already, Dicey-Dice?" the large man pulled himself up and wiped his face with a big, meaty hand.

Holding back as much of her revulsion as she could, she replied, "Uh, it's just Dice. And, uh, yeah, I gotta get gone." She paused as she pulled on her second shoe. "Do you know the time, as in, the day?"

"What? You mean like Monday?" He scratched at his beard as he squinted over at a clock on a dresser across the room. "It's 3:41 in the morning. You really gotta go?"

"Yeah, uh, big guy. I do." She stood up, buckled her belt, and – after making sure the safety was on - tucked her pistol in the small of her back. Monday would make it April the 11th, three days after the fight at Shivington.

"It's Craig."

"Yeah, Greg, I know."

"Craig."

"Um, yep." She put her switchblade in her pocket as she looked around for an empty condom wrapper and felt a slight twinge of panic when she didn't see one. "When we, uh, ya know, we were careful, right?"

"Yeah, you insisted on a love-glove and I don't need no brats. It's in the trashcan."

She let out a sigh of relief as she turned toward Greg or Craig. "Heh, yeah, um, you couldn't give a girl a lift home, could you?" she asked as she slid Baby through one of her beltloops.

"You said no one gets to go to your house. That's the rule." He shrugged and gestured toward the window. "Besides, it's a company vehicle. I can only drive it to work or my home."

Dice moved away from the bed and looked out of the second story window. Parked right outside was a Stilwater Municipal garbage truck. Her disdainful sigh of contempt was directed inward. Seriously? She was picked up by an overweight garbageman? How the hell…? She stepped backwards and knocked over some empty 40oz bottles.

Greg/Craig laughed. "You sure can pack'em away, sweetie. You drained your two then finished my second before I even got through my first. I barely got any."

She just shook her head as she looked at the empty bottles and paper bag on the floor. She had gotten blind-ass drunk _**again**_. It needed to stop; she so needed to get her shit together.

She picked up a receipt sticking out the end of the bag. It was from Brown Baggers, the timestamp showing the purchase was made at 7:27pm, Sunday with a credit card that wasn't hers. Hmph, so much for only being allowed to drive the company vehicle to work or home.

"But it was worth it," he continued on about the loss of his alcohol. "You can be a helluva freak."

"Ugh! Okay then!" She felt like she was going to be sick. "Can I borrow your bathroom?" He nodded and indicated a doorway. She went in, turned on the lightswitch and closed the door.

Waiting for her eyes to grow accustomed to the blaring light, she thought over her options. She could call Artemis, though his girlfriend, Darcy, would probably answer. Dice really had no problem with Darcy, but she could tell that Darcy didn't much approve of her. She didn't know if it was jealousy, contempt, or perhaps because Dice allowed herself to get into messed up situations like this. Frankly, she didn't care at this moment but Artemis was her pal and she didn't want to cause him any grief.

Maybe she could call Blake. He didn't have a car, but she was pretty sure he was currently staying with Bert who had a couple of vehicles. Bert would more than likely bitch about having to go get her this early in the morning. However, she was confident that Blake could talk him into it. Not many people said 'no' to Blake and he had never let her down.

If he did show up, however, she may have to explain the situation. Blake wouldn't ask, but Bert would. This was a new low, even for her. Blake would never say anything and still treat her the same way, of course, but she had let him down before and really didn't want to sink any lower in his eyes. His continued good opinion of her mattered a lot to Dice.

Maybe her friend, Spade, would do it. Spade was like a big sister and could always be counted on to keep situations quiet. Of course, there'd be a lecture as always, but it may just be worth it this time.

"You okay in there?" her new friend inquired.

"Gimme a second," she called back and stared at her reflection. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin was pale and her make-up was smeared all over the place.

"Shit, motherfuck bitch," she complained quietly as she felt around the pockets of her jeans and her button-down baby doll shirt. She didn't have her cell phone; it was on her kitchen table at her apartment. She _always_ forgot the damn thing. She dug her nails into the sides of the chipped porcelain sink as she gritted her teeth in anger.

"Why does this always happen?" she whispered to herself, trying to choke back a sob. She just wanted to get home. "Why can't I just be _not_ so crazy for once? Why do I _always_ do stupid shit?" She looked her reflection straight in the eyes. "Why can't I just be content for a little while?"

_**Because you don't deserve it.**_

"I-I know I don't," she whispered to the unseen voice as she wiped a hand across her eyes. "I just…"

"I gotta use the can," Greg or Craig announced.

"Alright," Dice growled. She quickly splashed water on her face and wiped off the excess before opening the door.

"You got a phone I could use?" she asked as they traded places. "I want to see if I can get my friend to come pick me up."

"I don't have a landline," he muttered as he closed the door.

"What about a cell?"

"Company phone," he called out. "It can only be used…"

"…for work or home. Yeah, yeah," she finished his sentence. Dice leaned her head against the wall in defeat. _Of course._

"I mean they check my phone records, even if I use it at night," he explained.

"Ya know what? Forget it." Dice headed to the front door. "I'm gone."

"Well, wait," whatever-the-fuck-his-name-was cried out as he flushed the toilet. "Can't I even get your number? Maybe we can hook up again?"

"You've _**got**_ to be fucking kidding me," she groaned. He wasn't willing to help her out in the least, but thought he might get lucky again? Fuck him. She opened the apartment door and slammed it loudly as she left. Going down the stairs two at time she headed toward the building entrance. She shoved the front door open so hard she actually put hairline cracks in the glass.

Across the street, Dice spotted the Tuna Town Theatre and the Dollhouse Motel. She quickly realized she was in western Rebadeaux in the Red Light District. Her own apartment was in the middle of Prawn Court. It was about a forty minute walk away.

Before heading back to her apartment, Dice stopped and looked up at the garbageman's window. Seeing no one looking out - he apparently wasn't even concerned if she made it home - she pulled her switchblade out of her pocket, walked over to the Stilwater Municipal trash truck and flicked out the blade.

"Ya know, I think one little prick," she muttered out loud to herself, "deserves another." With that she stabbed the blade into one of the rear tires of the garbage truck and twisted. Drawing great satisfaction from listening to the air hiss out as the tire deflated, she put her blade away and started walking home.

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><p>The Rebadeaux Neighborhood was still in the hands of the Ronin, and while they weren't actively at war with the Saints at the moment there was definitely no love lost. Any little thing might set them off and Dice was alone. Having her pistol comforted her somewhat, but without the Saints, without her crew, she felt naked, vulnerable. As much as she loved the whole concept of the lone wolf idea, she actually missed the companionship of her fellow gang-bangers.<p>

Dice began making her way through the side alleys and back lots to shorten the walk. At one time in another life, she would have been terrified to live on this side of the river let alone traverse her current route. There were junkies, drunks, bums and dealers at just about every corner. She made her way south as quick as possible and was soon within Bavogian Plaza, which was currently under control of the Saints.

She was hoping to spot some of her homies hanging out or driving around, but luck seemed against her. She tried to remember which businesses the Saints owned in the neighborhood. There were always some of her fellow gang-members guarding those places. All she had to do was find one of them.

"Let's see," Dice said to herself, "Rusty's Needle is ours now, but…" She looked around trying to gauge distance. "Shit, Club Purgatory's probably just as close. There's always a butt-load of the guys there." Her decision made, she trotted through another side alley past some derelicts and drug addicts. Ah, yes, the _gangsta life_ was so glamorous.

"Hey, girlie!" came a cry from out of a darkened area of the alley in front of her. She cursed under her breath. Just the opposite side of this alley was the back-lot where the Saints parked their cars while hitting up Club Purgatory. She had almost made it there when two tall figures approached her, blocking her route.

"Back the fuck off!" Dice warned as she pulled her NR4 out from behind her back. She was tired, she was pissed, and all she wanted to do was go home and take a long-ass shower. She aimed in the general direction of the two figures. "You picked the wrong bitch at the wrong time!"

"Whoa, whoa, girlie!" exclaimed the lead figure stepping into the light. "We got no beef with youse Saints! We would just prefer a heads up before youse start burning down the city." Dice recognized them immediately as they became illuminated by the numerous street lamps and neon signs flooding the area.

They were two of the local pimps in the area, sort of 'representatives' of their minor 'gang'. The pimps in Stilwater had recently become an organized faction, working together with each other and seldom traveling alone. They seemed to have no affiliation outside their fellow pimps but would work with the other gangs if their current interests were the same. Sometimes they'd fight for control of an area, but it seemed as if tonight they just wanted to talk.

The spokesman of the two was a thinner man with a gold and purple pimp hat, a dark yellow sleeveless vest and yellow pants. A thick gold chain with a jewel-encrusted 'D' hung around his neck. The other pimp was bulkier and had a beard. He had dark blue shades, a blue silk shirt and white baggy pants that matched his white pimp hat. Their street names were Golden D and Papa Pants.

"What do ya want, Goldie?" Dice asked cautiously. Pimps in Stilwater were known for carrying melee weapons, but rarely any guns. She didn't want them too close.

"Girlie, now why youse gotta be doing that?" the spokesman asked. "Ya'll know my name is Golden D." He shook his head. "I ain't disrespecting youse none."

"Yeah, well, my name isn't 'girlie' for starters," she retorted.

"Well, what is it then?"

Inside her own gang Dice had a decent reputation as an up-and-comer, but didn't have the street respect that some of her fellow Saints did. The Boss, Gat, or Pierce – they could always call on whoever they wanted. Artemis worked hard getting his rep up and now was in charge of a four man crew. Even Tommy the asshole had a full crew under him. Outside the Saints, her name wasn't well known. Sometimes that worked to her advantage.

"You can call me Miss Saint," she said with a smile as she kept her gun steady. "Now, what do you want?"

"Damn, gir… I mean, _Miss Saint_, we just need youse to deliver a message of import-_tance _to youse Boss. She needs to pays us some respect and let us knows when she's gonna burn shit down."

"Do I look like a fucking messenger girl to you?" Dice asked raising an eyebrow.

"No," answered Papa Pants in a deep voice. "You look like a fourteen year old brat trying to play Gangsta. You need some growing up to do before you step into the real world."

Dice scowled at him and started to reply, but he interrupted her.

"I'll tell you what, _girlie_," Papa Pants offered as he looked her over carefully, "I'll let you work your way up on one my corners as a Bargain Bin Blow-job until you've grown up enough to take a man to bed. Then I may just keep you for my personal bidness."

The familiar wave of heat washed over her as she addressed the blue and white adorned pimp.

"I'm not one of your hos and I'm not afraid of you," she growled dangerously. "You try to touch me and I'll lay you out, roll you over, shove my gun up your ass and keep pulling the trigger until the gun goes 'CLICK', you arrogant fuck."

"My fellow crimi-_nals_!" Golden D cried out. "We shouldn't be fightin' 'mongst usselves. Can't we just cooperate?"

Keeping her eyes, and her pistol, on Papa Pants, Dice addressed the other pimp.

"Look D, one, we don't have to ask your permission to do anything. Two, the Boss doesn't got to pay you anything – respect or otherwise. You should just be grateful she _allows_ you to operate in her neighborhoods at all. Third, we didn't burn anything down; we're gang-bangers, not arsonists."

"Then what's this 'bout, hm?" He slowly pulled a newspaper clipping out of his breast pocket, so as not to over-antagonize the pistol-wielding girl.

Dice tentatively took the clipping with her free hand. She took a step back as she flicked the paper open so she could take a quick look. The headline read: **SHIVINGTON IN FLAMES!**

"This doesn't mean we did it."

"Please, Miss Saint," Golden D said. "Youse just keep that and please _ask_ your leader if she could p'raps give us just a little heads-up next time." He bowed to her and then glanced at Papa Pants as he straightened back up. "Let's _get_."

With a wink in her direction, Papa Pants turned and followed Golden D past Dice and out the end of the alley.

Dice waited until they were gone before flicking on her safety and stashing her pistol in the small of her back again. Heading toward the parking lot behind the Saints' Hideout, Dice carefully unfolded the paper and started reading the article by the lights on the lot. Apparently, the fire **was** started by the Saints on the same night that Artemis, Mongrel, Chaz and she dealt with the Samedi and their biker thugs. The more she read, the more horrified she became. A lot of people were hurt, a lot of homes were destroyed, and nearly two dozen innocent people were killed in the neighborhood-wide fire.

"Jesus, Artemis," Dice quietly addressed her absent friend, "what'd we do?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: February is here and so is the next episode in the continuing adventures of our little heroes... er, criminal gang-members.**

**Part 2 of 'History' is vexing me and may take a while to get finished. I'll upload it as soon as I finish, edit, and re-edit it.**


	10. Ep 2: History, Part 2

**A/N: Wanted to say thanks to **_**shadow182angel**_**, **_**HeartWritingM**_**, **_**Double H19/Red's Revenge**_**, and **_**High Mage Lady Hawkmoon **_**– all very talented writers in my opinion**_** - **_**for their encouraging reviews and everyone else who has been reading.**

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Episode 2: History<strong>**

**** Part 2****

* * *

><p><strong>Sommerset Neighborhood, Apartments District, Stilwater<strong>

**Monday, April 11, 2011 – 11:23am**

"Jesus, Artemis," Bert addressed his fellow Saint, "what'd you guys do?"

The smell of burning grease filled the air inside the Freckle Bitches where Artemis, Bert, and Mongrel were enjoying a quick bite. The recent fires at Shivington had made the headlines, as Bert was so keen to point out.

Bert Jensen was a large white man in his early twenties, clean-shaven, about 5' 10" and 215 pounds with short brown hair. He was muscled but heavy-set with a slight beer gut, or if you asked him – solidly built. Bert was the kind of guy who always made fun of other people, who always told the worst jokes or would cause shit just to do it. However, he remembered his friends and was always one of the first into the fray defending his fellow Saints. Of course, this had the unfortunate side-effect of getting him injured a lot – usually by his enemies, but sometimes by his friends and not always by accident.

Bert had just recently been promoted; he was now in charge of a four-man crew. He had been with the Saints since the earliest weeks of their newest incarnation. In fact, Artemis had been one of the Saints that canonized him. He almost didn't make it and had been close to giving up, but Artemis, while 'inducting' him into the gang, told him he could make it if he really wanted it, if he was strong enough.

Somehow he did it; he found the inner strength to survive. He took the punishment, pushed on through, and was canonized exactly ten days after Artemis. They became good friends and a rivalry of sorts developed between the two. Artemis was undeniably one of the best marksmen to have joined the Saints, so Bert tried to outdo him in other areas.

Whenever Artemis volunteered for a dangerous assignment, Bert wanted one as well. As Artemis gained enough respect to start rising in the ranks, Bert worked for the same recognition. When Artemis purchased his car Clementine, Bert bought a Wellington station wagon. After Artemis had the Stiletto reinforced to survive punishment, Bert armored his car even more and nicknamed it 'The Tank'. He practiced his driving skills to rival just about any of his fellow Saints save maybe Tamara the Wheel Woman or the Boss herself.

Pierce noticed their constant work and rewarded them for their efforts until each was now in charge of his own crew. They became well known – Artemis for his leadership skills, tactics, and deadly accuracy, and Bert for his loyalty, mad motor skills, and being the guy you always wanted at your back. They became two of the most trusted Saints in Pierce's crew and were treated accordingly. Well, Artemis was anyway. Bert's mouth usually got him hit, a lot.

"I mean," Bert remarked, dipping some of the fries from his Three-way Combo into his ketchup, "I know you guys were supposed to send a message to the Samedi and their pet thugs, but damn!"

"Actually, burning down Shivington wasn't the plan at all," Artemis replied. He took a long sip from his Big Swallow soda before continuing. "We were told to check out the middle of Shivington, but try to keep away from the western edge of the neighborhood, where the fires originated." He paused. "Those were Pierce's instructions."

"So, what, we were like a distraction… bait?" Mongrel asked, glancing at Bert then at Artemis. "Pierce wouldn't set us up, right?"

"Naw, man," Artemis said with a wave of his hand. "Pierce isn't like that; he's cool." He thought a moment. "The Boss came down the exact street we were at. There are easier ways to get out of Shivington." He speculated. "I think we were the back-up. That's why Pierce said we wouldn't need it. We _**were**_ it. The Boss didn't need us, so she never called us. I don't honestly believe there were suppose to be any Samedi where we were sent. We just got lucky."

"You call runnin' into Taibot and his thugs lucky?" Bert asked.

"Yeah, and we beat'em," Mongrel smirked. "Messed up that punk Gressor's leg pretty good, too."

"If by messed up, you mean totally shattering his damn kneecap, then yeah I guess you did," Artemis replied. "Dice tore up Mance's face pretty good, too." Artemis finished off his burger before continuing. "Although, you really couldn't tell." Bert laughed at that, Mongrel just smiled.

"Speaking of which," Mongrel sat upright as he continued, "we did okay, right? We're going to get paid for this?"

Artemis nodded as he started on his second cheeseburger.

"Any idea when?"

"We're supposed to meet Pierce at Phuc Mi Phuc Yue around 10am this Friday. He's going to go over a few things and give us our pay-outs." Artemis ate the last of his food. "I think Pierce and the Boss lady were both pleased, so it should be good, maybe even a couple hundred."

"Seriously?" griped Bert. "The four of you take on like twenty dudes, and you only get fifty bucks each? Screw that!"

"Bert," Artemis sighed, "that's a couple hundred for _each of us_."

"Oh," Bert said quietly, "yeah, I knew that." He finished off his meal.

"Good," Mongrel mumbled, lost in thought, "Friday will leave enough time."

"You need cash, bro?" Bert inquired as he got up for a refill of his soda. "Ol' Bert's got you covered if you need some green."

"Huh? No, I'm cool," Mongrel shook his head. "I don't need the money until the 20th anyway, but thanks."

"What's happening on the 20th?" Bert asked as he sat back down. "You're stayin' with me at the moment and we're all squared 'til the end of June, man. You need to be somewhere?"

"April 20th is Dice's birthday," Artemis replied before Mongrel could. "It's her twenty-first, right?"

"Yeah," Mongrel said with a smile. "She can drink legally now."

"Because us being criminals," Bert commented, "we _never_ do anything illegally."

"What are you getting her?" Artemis asked. "Not a stupid shot-glass I hope."

"No, nothing to do with drinking." Mongrel paused, then a look of concern crossed his face. "Why, you think I should have?"

"Naw, man, calm down." Artemis reassured him. "Whatever you got her will be fine. Hell, you've known her longer than any of us. So what is it?"

"Okay, get this," Mongrel spoke with animated gestures. "Over at _On Thin Ice_ they got these earrings, okay?"

Bert whistled, "Going for the expensive stuff, huh?"

"Just listen," Mongrel continued. "These earrings, they're in the shape of a pair of dice, ya know one for each ear. They're solid silver…"

"Solid?" interrupted Bert. "How far these gonna set you back?"

"Let the man speak, son, damn," Artemis ordered with exasperation. "Go on, Mongrel."

"Well, they're specially weighted, ya know to hang on her ears properly or something. But I asked the clerk if they could be adjusted, the weight that is."

"For what?" Bert was lost.

"Well," Mongrel grinned, "I wanted them weighted regularly so that in case Dice wanted to use them as, you know, actual dice, she could. The hooks can be detached, too. They'll be kinda neat, I think."

Artemis smiled and shook his head. He always liked Mongrel. He was dependable, kept his cool for the most part, followed orders and gave his best. He wasn't the type who complained about this or that. Far from it. However, Mongrel almost never smiled, hell, he rarely became excited about anything. He kept to himself and tried not to bother anyone. Artemis was pretty sure there was something dark in his past, but just about everyone he knew had some black secret which made them who they were.

It was always interesting for him, then, to watch Mongrel talk about Dice. Just like 'Lil Sister' (his own nickname for her) suggested, Dice _was_ like family to Artemis, she was like a little sister; but as much as he cared about her, he had to admit that she had a tendency to get on _everyone's_ nerves. While basically a decent person, Dice was known more for being reckless and her temper was a thing best avoided. Somehow, though, this crazy girl brought out something different in the tall blond man sitting across from Artemis - a spark of life, a light that wasn't usually there.

Artemis was aware that Mongrel and Dice had known each other before joining the Saints. Their friendship was evident and he was fairly certain they had been more than friends at one time, but something happened – what exactly he wasn't sure, but it drove them apart for a while. The saddest part was that the rift seemed to have healed over long ago. Whatever else they had been before they kept buried, but hints of it surfaced on occasion if one listened carefully. Why they kept it buried eluded him. Maybe they were afraid to let it out. Perhaps they thought their friendship would be in jeopardy if things turned out wrong. It seemed a risk they weren't willing to take, at least for now.

"So," Bert pressed, bringing Artemis back to the conversation at hand, "How much are we talking?"

"Around two-seventy," Mongrel admitted, "plus another fifty or so for the service plan."

"Fuck my mom with a frozen banana, say what?" Bert was incredulous. There was a brief pause before he spoke again."Uh, you got that much?"

"I will if we get paid enough by Pierce," Mongrel said glancing between Bert and Artemis. "Well, mostly. I'll still need to come up with a bit more."

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "So you need the rest kinda fast, huh?" Mongrel nodded. He thought a moment. "Bert, didn't you use to work for Sykes over at Tee'N'Ay doing… uh, stuff?"

Bert narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, but you think he'll take the job?"

Mongrel's face lit up. "Hey, I'm available for whatever."

"Well," Bert started, "I know you don't have a car, but you got your license, right?"

"I have _**a**_ license. Pierce had Legal Lee hook me up with a friend of his at the Stilwater DMV. I can drive, uh, kinda legally, I guess."

"Alright, well ya know Sykes, right, the manager of Tee'N'Ay?"

"Yeah, I know who he is."

"Well, he kinda runs a side business…" Bert trailed off.

"Go on."

"Some of the strippers earn extra cash on the side, ya know, entertaining their clients."

"Prostitution, Bert. Yeah, I know."

"Okay, then," Bert continued, "Sykes is always looking for guys to protect the girls. Sometimes the clients may want something weird or sometimes they get a bit rough."

"I can do protection. Being a bouncer's easy."

"No," Bert shook his head. "He needs drivers. The girls are officially 'escorts'. Ya gotta wear a chauffeur outfit and all that."

"A what? A chauffeur?" Mongrel made a face. "You're serious?"

"Hey," Artemis interjected, "the Boss lady used to do it when she first joined the Saints back in '06. She did it again when she came back last year to reestablish old contacts and to make some money to build the Saints up the second time around. You sayin' you're better'n the Boss?"

"Uh, no," Mongrel paused. "It's just…"

"Remember, you'd be doing it for Dice's present," Artemis said with a wink. "She's worth it, right?"

"Yeah," Mongrel sighed, "she is."

"Cool," said Bert. "I'll make the call. You can meet up with Sykes this weekend."

"Speaking of which," Artemis turned to Bert. "Chaz's thing is this Thursday night. He survived his first outing as a Saint. We're going to Tee'N'Ay first to celebrate then heading to On Track. I know you're coming, but what about your crew?"

"Thursday night?"

"Yeah, we can avoid the crowds from the weekend and they'll be less of Stilwater's finest out asking about age restrictions and whatnot."

"Hm, makes sense," admitted Bert. "But it'll probably be just me. Rico's out doing whatever it is Rico does." Bert finished off his drink and went for another refill before continuing.

"As for Dennis and Dominic, they got pulled for night duty guarding the _Brown Baggers_ in Shivington. Pierce said the Boss just got control of the business and she needed some really good people to guard it." Bert puffed out his chest. "Yeah, I'm surprised none of _your_ people were asked." He paused then winked at his rival. "Well, maybe I'm not _that_ surprised."

"Oh," Artemis leaned forward with a smile, "that's because it's just a cheap-ass Brown Baggers. Now once the Boss gets control of… oh, I don't know, a high-end jewelry store like _On Thin Ice_ or a Federal Bank perhaps, then I'll be expecting a call. Until then, that small-time crap's perfect for your crew."

"Fuck off!" Bert said with a laugh.

"Anyway," Artemis looked at the time, "you got Chaz, Mongrel and Dice covered for me Thursday, right?"

"I'll be there," answered Bert, "but why do I have to pick up _your_ crew?"

"I'm working on something and have to be at Tee'N'Ay early."

"Whatever, man. Leave it to good old Bert to take care of things," complained Bert.

"I always do," smiled Artemis.

* * *

><p>Artemis arrived home around 2pm. He and his girlfriend Darcy were renting a three story refurbished townhouse. It had recently been rehabbed; the old brownstone façade had been replaced by a soft white granite face. The house was in the southwest Bavogian Plaza Neighborhood facing north. Across the street and two buildings to the east was the mission housing the main Hideout of the 3rd Street Saints. Despite the house's new condition, it was located in an area going through urban redevelopment. So, since there was a business named 'Sex Palace' half a block to the north, no rear or side parking and the insurance companies rated it an extreme high risk neighborhood, they were able to rent it for only $850 a month, all utilities included.<p>

Entering, he called out, "Dar? You home, baby?"

Getting no response, he went to the living room. He tossed his keys into the empty glass bowl on the coffee table and got out his phone. Searching through his numbers, he found his sister's and dialed it. After a few rings it went to voicemail.

"Hey, Donna, it's me Artemis, I mean William. Just calling to check on you guys." He eased into a recliner. "Haven't heard from you or Mom in a couple of weeks and wanted to make sure you all were alright. Give me a call so we can make plans to go out some time, okay? Love you, bye."

He clicked his phone shut and slid off his shoes. He wasn't needed at the moment and with no one around he actually had a chance to rest. Darcy told him he didn't do that enough nowadays, but he had responsibilities. Too many people counted on him and in his line of work if you messed up someone could get hurt or killed. Life had been easier when he was younger, but not now.

He closed his eyes. As he began to relax he heard a dog barking somewhere across the street. It reminded him of… Sammy. How odd, to remember a pet from nearly eighteen years ago. From a simpler time. He tried to remember Sammy's big black face, wagging his tail, and then other memories started to surface. He remembered Pops, the man from whom he learned so much when he was growing up. So much of what Artemis was today was because of Pops. So many memories. Those were better times...

Without realizing it, he soon drifted off to a light sleep…

...

_His name was Willie and he was… five years old? A low bark caused him to look over to the right. It was Sammy, his black Labrador. It was the last year Sammy would be with him. Yes, Willie was five._

_ Pops was working on the garage. It always needed repair. What the Brown family really needed was a new garage. But Pops couldn't afford it. There was always another bill, another payment. Willie didn't know why grown-ups had so many bills, but there sure were a lot of them._

_ It was a hot day and Pops sat with Willie in the shade taking a break. Mom came out with lemonade and everything was fine. Willie wanted Pops to play with him, but Pops had to finish his work._

_ "Always finish what you set out to do," Pops said. "Never leave something unfinished. It ain't right, son. A man, a real man, always sees his job through."_

_ It was good advice and Willie remembered it._

_..._

_He was currently eight? Donna, his sister, was two. Yes, Willie was now eight._

_ Pops had served in the army and had a neat collection of… what was that big word? Memorabilia? Yes, Pops had lots of that: an old uniform, a knife, a pistol, ribbons, and even a medal for valor. That meant Pops was brave. But Willie already knew that. He worked as a security guard at one of those big factory buildings. One with all the big steel tanks and machinery._

_ Pops said it was important stuff, guarding everything. Pops always took pride in his work._

_ "Always do your best," Pops said. "Sometimes people may count on you and it's your responsibility to do your job as well as you can. Always one hundred percent, sometimes a little more. A man, a real man, never does any less than his absolute best."_

_ It was good advice and Willie remembered it._

...

_Will was currently eleven? There were problems with the money and Mom had to get a job to help with the bills. Yes, Will was now eleven._

_ Pops was kinda sad nowadays and talked a lot. He talked about when he served in the army. He talked about his fellow soldiers and how they were like his family. Will thought that was silly. Mom, Donna, and Will were Pops' family. How could other people not related be his family? But they were. They were like brothers and sisters. They protected each other and looked out for each other. Pops had a medal for valor but so did some of his brothers and sisters in the army, some of whom never made it home._

_ "Always watch out for your family," Pops said. "Not just the one you was born to, but the ones that you find out in the world. The ones that love you just like your real flesh and blood. The ones that watch out for you and take care of you when things get rough. A man, a real man, never stops taking care of his family, never stops watching out for those he loves."_

_ It was good advice and Will remembered it._

_..._

_Will was now twelve. The car had broken down and the money problems increased. Mom and Pops argued a lot. Yes, he was now twelve._

_ Pops seemed tired all the time, and there was a good reason. He was taking extra shifts up at work. He was gone a lot now. Pops mentioned Mr. Philips, one of the business people at the factory building. He was a lawyer and seemed very interested in Pops. They got real friendly. Pops even brought him over to his house one day. After that, Pops seemed a little worried, not much, just a little._

_ Pops told him that he'd love Will no matter what. Will was always supposed to remember that._

_ "Sometimes, son, you have to do things that you aren't proud of, but may be necessary," Pops said. "Sometimes bad things need to happen so that good things can happen, too. Sometimes, a man, well a man may have to do bad things himself, so that those he loves don't have to suffer… so that the ones he loves can be safe and happy."_

_ It sounded like good advice and Will remembered it._

...

_William was thirteen. He knew because his father was arrested when he was thirteen._

_ Important documents that his father was guarding went missing as well as certain equipment. The documents were legal papers, titles and such with confidential information. The equipment was specialized machinery - very rare and very expensive. His father was supposed to guard it but was not at his post. It was an 'inside job' and his father apparently was the inside man._

_ Suddenly, their money problems stopped. His mother cried a lot at this time, but was very careful with the money, the special money that she kept hidden away from everyone. William saw it one time and knew what happened. His father went to jail for money to feed his family. His father wasn't the real criminal, but had gotten paid to help. He wanted his father back but his father told him to wait._

_ "Always be patient, son," his father said. "Sometimes things happen, events conspire and you can't just get what you want right away. You sometimes can't be with who you want to be with. But a man, a real man, knows how to wait, knows how to be patient so he finally gets what he wants."_

_ It was good advice and William remembered it._

...

_William was fifteen when his father was killed in Stilwater Penitentiary. He knew because he was fifteen when he went to the funeral._

_ Mom and Donna cried a lot and everyone was sorry. Pops always was nice, even in prison. He died defending a prison guard who was jumped by three men wanting him dead. His Pops was a hero, but got only a poor man's funeral. A lot of people came, though - a lot of Pops friends, some of which had been in the army. Mr. Philips came as well and acted all sorry, but William was smart. He knew Mr. Philips was the real criminal and had stolen the documents from the factory. William knew it and told Mr. Philips so._

_ Mr. Philips laughed and never denied it, at least not to William. Mr. Philips had given Pops money so he could pay the bills, a lot of money actually, but there was a catch – Pops had to take the blame. William wasn't going to stand for it and said Mr. Philips needed to pay. Mr. Philips said there was nothing that could be legally done to him. He had planned too well._

_ "Planning ahead and thinking things through, son," laughed Mr. Philips. "That's the key. Always be one step ahead – thinking of all of the variables. That's how to beat your opponents. A man, a smart man, always plans his actions carefully before implementing them."_

_ It was good advice and William… William _made sure_ to remember it._

...

Artemis's phone buzzed on the coffee table, waking him. It seemed as if not all of the memories were pleasant, but they soon retreated away. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and picked up the phone. It was a text from Barry, the bartender of _On Track._ Everything on the club's end was good to go for Chaz's party Thursday night. Artemis smiled. It would be a good week as long as no unforeseen problems arose.

* * *

><p><strong>Rebadeaux Neighborhood, Red Light District, Stilwater<strong>

**Tuesday, April 11****th****, 2011 – 9:53pm**

The pimp named Papa Pants entered the _Diamond in the Muff_ club and scanned the interior. The booths were all upholstered in black leather with shiny steel stubs. The brick walls were painted hot pink and the atmosphere smelled of hard liquor and cheap cigarettes. A brown mahogany bar ran the length of the entire western wall broken only by a rhinestone-encrusted stripper pole positioned exactly in the middle – the 'Diamond' from which the club derived its name.

Through the blue haze of lingering cigarette smoke, he caught sight of his target at the far north end of the bar. Nodding to Danell, the leader of the three men that accompanied him, Papa Pants gave him their orders.

"Alright, go play while I have a word." His guards nodded. "But keep an eye out in case there's a problem." He sauntered on over to his contact, Big Fizzy. It would be hard to miss him.

Big Fizzy, as his name implied, was a big, heavyset black man with a light beard obscuring his multiple chins, yellow tinted shades and long frizzy hair escaping out from under his hat. Big Fizzy didn't wear a pimp-hat; rather it was a light purple top hat with snow leopard fur around the brim. It matched his long pimp coat perfectly – light purple with expensive snow leopard lining cinched at the waist with a thick gold belt. It his right hand he held a large mug of beer, in the left he gripped a tall, almost obnoxiously large pimp cane of polished wood and gold that put Papa Pants' blue and white cane to shame.

"You came alone?" Papa Pants seemed surprised. "You sure are trusting."

"My brother," Big Fizzy grumbled in a deep, gravelly voice, "jus' cuz you don't see Big Fizzy's boys, doesn't mean Big Fizzy's alone." He took a big swallow of his beer. "Only fools and dead men trust that much, and Big Fizzy ain't stupid or dead!" He then laughed in his deep voice at his own apparent joke. When Papa Pants didn't respond, Big Fizzy sighed. "You ready, playa?" he asked.

"Yeah, let's get this done with." Papa Pants wasn't that comfortable about this meeting. This secretive crap wasn't his style and he wanted it over.

"Alright, then." His large companion led him through a door in the northeast corner to the private peepshow rooms. They stopped at the third on the left and Big Fizzy rapped once on the door. Papa Pants couldn't hear what the reply was, but Big Fizzy smiled and opened the door.

There were three figures already in the room when the two pimps entered. Papa Pants recognized the man on the far right immediately. He was a fellow pimp dressed in white and green clothing with large garish green glasses and a small green fedora who went by the street name Two-Tone.

Seated in the middle of the room was a white man he didn't know. His height was difficult to judge, but he had short dark hair and was clean-shaven save for a small soulpatch he was trying to grow out. He was wearing a dark grey suit with a black button-down silk shirt and a black tie. He had on expensive black gloves and a black handkerchief was tucked in his suit's breast pocket. He was leaning upon a large, black leather-wrapped cane with a silver skull on top.

Papa Pants smirked; he definitely needed to get a bigger and better pimp cane if he was going to keep up with people like Big Fizzy and the dark-clothed stranger.

The western wall was dominated by a single six-foot tall pane of glass. In a small room behind the one way mirror was a rather scantily dressed young woman gyrating around a stripper pole.

"Welcome, welcome, friends," said the seated gentleman. "I take it you know each other." He indicated Two-tone. Big Fizzy smiled and nodded. Papa Pants just stared at him.

"What is it you want?" Papa Pants asked with impatience. "You called this meeting. You owe me an explanation."

"Show some respect," came a low growl from the third man who had, up until this moment, been hidden in the shadows. He stepped forward. He was a lean man approximately six feet in height. He had an exotic appearance, beautiful even, that suggested he may have been from India, but his accent hinted at a formal British education. His attire, a tailor made black suit and black leather gloves added to this.

The man in the middle of the room finally stood.

"Forgive my associate," he said, "but in our line of work Jaqual has learned to be overly cautious." He looked Papa Pants over. "Any sign of aggression, overt or otherwise, tends to, hmm, end poorly when he is around." He stepped closer to the blue and white dressed pimp. "It would be in everyone's best interest to remain calm and civil."

"What…?" Papa Pants started but the speaker interrupted him.

"My name is Jean San-Pierre. I have the honor to work for the illustrious man who goes by the name of the General." He stepped back with a smile. "I represent the Samedi."

"You work for the Samedi?" Papa Pants looked skeptical. "I doubt that."

"But I do work for the General." San-Pierre's eyes glistened.

He unbuttoned his suit coat. The bottom of the black tie had a green skull symbol on it. He then quickly tucked it away as he buttoned his coat back up.

"See? I'm in disguise," he laughed.

"What do you want?" asked Papa Pants impatiently. "Why did I get called to come here?"

"Our mutual acquaintance," the Samedi indicated Big Fizzy, "heard that you were unhappy with the current establishment of power in the Red light District."

Papa Pants glanced over at Big Fizzy. "So?"

San-Pierre stepped forward to admire the attractive girl. She was a young Hispanic woman in her early twenties with dark eyes and full lips. As she danced her long wavy dark hair flowed behind her.

"Her name is Teresa. Quite beautiful don't you think?" the Samedi asked.

"I'm outta here," Papa Pants said with a huff. "You wanna play mind games and sneak around like children, that's all right for you." He started toward the door.

"If you help us retake Bavogian Plaza, half of it will be yours."

Papa Pants stopped and turned to look at San-Pierre who continued.

"That's right, half." San-Pierre reluctantly turned away from the glass wall. "The other half goes to Two-Tone. Think of it. All the money your girls will earn. No other competition save Two-Tone here. No other pimps, no more Golden D or his allies, no more Saints and their dictates that you should be serving them. I offer a partnership."

"In exchange for what?" the pimp asked. "There's always a catch. You get like fifty percent of what my girls earn or some shit like that?"

"No catch. Nothing except loyalty to the Samedi. We get the rest of the market. Drugs, money laundering, everything else. You keep what you earn and support us when we need it. Sound fair?"

"What do I gotta do to start this 'beneficial relationship'?" Papa Pants stepped forward. "There's gotta be something you want first."

"Oh, there is. Jaqual?" The Samedi lieutenant glanced at his associate who moved toward Papa Pants. The grim bodyguard pulled a set of photos from his jacket pocket.

"This man here," Jaqual indicated a figure in the photos, "goes by the name of Artemis. Mr. San-Pierre wants him. Alive."

"What for?"

"Yours is not to question…" the bodyguard growled but San-Pierre cut him off.

"It's alright, Jaqual." The Samedi turned his attention once again to the dancer. "This particular young man belongs to the Saints and made quite the fool out of an associate of mine. An associate that I would like to see removed from power in the Samedi. Should I manage to secure this troublesome little Saint and bring him humbled before the General, well, let's just say my status would greatly improve."

"How'd you get these? And how do you know who this guy is?"

"_That_ is not your concern," San-Pierre said with a smile.

Papa Pants flipped through the handful of pictures and stopped at one. He studied it, smiled, and held it up.

"Alright I'm in," he said. "But I want something."

San-Pierre looked over at the pimp.

"This little bitch here," the pimp pointed to a short white girl with dark blonde hair cut in a baggy bob. In the picture she was standing next to the man named Artemis and was smiling while she flipped off the camera. "I've met her."

"Where?" the Samedi asked.

"That's my business." It was now the pimp's turn to laugh. "She mouthed off to me and D a couple of days ago. She needs to learn her place. You let me have her, do what I want with her, and I'll help you get Bavogian Plaza."

San-Pierre thought a moment. "Deal, but little Teresa needs a tip for her excellent performance. A hundred dollars ought to cover it, from both Two-Tone and you." His voiced indicated he would brook no argument.

Papa Pants scowled but pulled out the hundred anyway as did Two-Tone. They slid the money in a slot on the lower right side of the window. The dancer smiled and blew a kiss at the glass. San-Pierre grinned as he turned toward the two.

"Gentlemen, see your way out. I have business to discuss with your companion." He nodded toward Big Fizzy. "He will have instructions for you. Good evening."

After the pair of pimps left, Jaqual turned to his boss.

"If I may, Mr. San-Pierre, I do not like associating with these people. That one in the blue and white in particular. His treatment of women disgusts me."

"Ah, Jaqual, they are merely a means to an end. Big Fizzy has indicated that these two are successful enough that they may be able to help us, but not so important that they will be missed if things go wrong. Is that not so?"

Big Fizzy smiled. "That's right, brother."

"Don't worry, my loyal friend," he turned to his bodyguard. "If this Papa Pants gets too far out of line, you may punish him in any manner you see fit. Is that acceptable?"

"Most acceptable, Mr. San-Pierre," Jaqual said with a vicious smile. "Most acceptable indeed." The bodyguard's mind was already thinking of the most painful punishments he could inflict on the absent pimp. He would have to pick the perfect one.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Dum dum dum duuummmm…. The plot thickens, or whatever.**

**This mess of a chapter is my biggest one yet and took forever to get finished. Not even sure if I like how it turned out, but… meh, here it is.**

**The next chapter will probably be broken up into smaller chapters as I don't like publishing such long ones. **

**Anyway, let me know how I'm doing.**


	11. Ep 2: History, Part 3

**A/N: I put my story under the two categories of crime/drama and unfortunately now comes the drama part; this chapter was originally friggin' huge - we're talking about 12,000 words+ (blech). I, therefore, broke the original chapter into smaller ones and got rid of a lot of the useless bits - they were really slowing it down.**

**Anyway, here we go:**

* * *

><p><strong>Episode 2: History<strong>

**Part 3**

* * *

><p><strong>Ezpata Neighborhood, Barrio District, Stilwater<strong>

**Thursday, April 14, 2011, 6:14pm **

Chaz Ortenza put his earbuds in as he took his seat on the Cheetah bus. It was no Greyhound, but the _Cheetah Coaches_ bus service was the most inexpensive way to get around town. He flipped on his MP3Player as the huge white, yellow, and green vehicle left the bus stop in front of the Casa de Campo Hotel in Ezpata.

The first song was Eek A Mouse's 'Ganga Smuggling'. No matter how many songs he downloaded, the first song that started playing was never one he wanted to listen to at that time. He skipped to the next track. Wale's 'Ridin in that Black Joint' started playing. He smiled and relaxed in his seat as the bus drove its route.

Chaz looked out the window at all the people. Most were just decent people going about their lives trying to make an honest living in the world, but not all. There were at least three pimps and five prostitutes amongst the dozen or so people in front of the _El Hombre Bar_ the bus passed. He shook his head in disgust. Things were just as bad now as they had been when he was younger. As the bus went beneath the overpass, his eyes misted over as he remembered his earlier days…

...

_Eight years ago, the gang known as Los Carnales had control of all of the Barrio territories: Ezpata, Encanto, Cecil Park, and Southern Cross. They had some sort of affiliation with a Columbian cartel and pumped a seemingly endless supply of drugs into the area. Los Carnales were also at war with the other gangs in the area, most notably the Vice Kings._

_ His brother Roberto, two years his senior, and he had been playing on the jungle gym in the park across the street from Julio's Supermercado when one of the numerous shootouts between Los Carnales and the Vice Kings had broken out. Chaz didn't remember every detail of what happened, but he remembered the red and yellow cars in the middle of the road and the gang members getting out their guns. He remembered the gunshots and the screams of some of the other patrons of the park. He remembered Roberto calling his name as he grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him toward the middle of the park where it dipped down._

_Chaz never knew exactly why. Perhaps Roberto thought it would give the boys some shelter against the flying bullets. Perhaps he thought they could escape out the other side of the park. It didn't matter. _

_As Chaz went down the stairs, he twisted his ankle and fell face-first into the hard grey concrete of the park walkway. The misstep saved his life. Less than a second later, a spray of bullets flew overhead and Roberto was hit three times in the back. His body fell on top of Chaz's._

_He was unaware of how much time he laid there, his brother's body on top of him, his brother's blood seeping out of his wounds onto him. The firefight couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes, but to the terrified boy of ten, it seemed to go on forever._

_Only when the shooting stopped did he attempt to move. Some of the park patrons who hadn't fled found him and helped him. Even Julio, the owner of the Supermercado, ran out to offer assistance. The police arrived and his mother was informed of the tragedy. Without eyewitness accounts as to who had actually shot Roberto, the police could do nothing. There were no arrests made and the incident was labeled 'another tragic Barrio incident'._

_Chaz's mother took the news bad. His father had left six years before, and she tried raising the boys on her own. Chaz had always thought she did an excellent job, but apparently she never thought it was good enough. She took to drugs later on to deal with not only Roberto's loss but the strain of being a single parent. The fact that the drugs were being provided by Los Carnales – one of the groups that may have killed her son – didn't seem to matter._

_When his mother was unable to continue caring for him properly, Chaz's Aunt Lola took him in. Two months after moving in with his aunt, his mother was found dead in an alley three blocks from where she lived, the apparent victim of a mugging gone wrong. The world just seemed to grow darker. _

_Then, two and a half years later, __**they**__ came._

_The Third Street Saints came busting in out of nowhere. They were a small group of people led by Julius Little and Troy Bradshaw dedicated to taking down the gangs that threatened everything around them. They were heroes to the common people and once a then unknown individual – now the boss – joined up with them, they spread like wildfire. First they smashed into the Vice Kings, then the Westside Rollerz and finally they took on Los Carnales. They fought everyone and everything that threatened them, including corrupt officials and even the Columbian cartels. The other gangs were being pushed back. The Saints were everywhere with their purple and gold. Purple and gold, the colors of royalty – and they were recruiting._

_When he turned thirteen, Chaz decided to join. His aunt had been nice, but he still felt like a burden, a burden that had gotten his brother killed and drove his mom away. He wanted to join the Saints and help them, but he was too late._

_The Saints had claimed the city, yet tragedy still took them down. Julius Little was arrested, Troy Bradshaw turned out to be an undercover cop and the fast rising unknown individual, who had been newly appointed as the second-in-command, was apparently killed in an explosion that also killed Alderman Hughes. Several of the Saints were arrested or fled Stilwater with the fall of the gang's main leaders._

_Life went back to normal in Stilwater, at least for a while. Then the new gangs came – the Sons of Samedi, the Brotherhood, and the Ronin. The Samedi took over the drug trade and if anything they were worse than the Carnales with their Loa Dust and their weird pseudo-voodoo rituals. The Brotherhood took over the Barrio itself and instead of drugs brought prostitution to the area. The pimps were free to roam about wherever they chose and the prostitutes were treated like chattel. The madness returned…_

_..._

Chaz was roused out of his dreary memories as the song ended. A new song started playing. He went back to reminiscing…

...

_The madness returned and held sway for five years. Then an honest to goodness miracle happened. The Saints' high rising star – the Boss herself – woke from a coma. She hadn't died in the explosion after all! In fact no one really knew it was her at first since the early rumors and stories had always described her as being a guy. Just under a year ago, she returned to Stilwater with a vengeance. The first thing she did was free her partner Johnny Gat, probably the toughest Saint ever. Then she went back to recruiting._

_Chaz hadn't believed it at first; it took almost ten months for him to work up the courage to try and join again. Many things had changed: Ultor, a clothing conglomerate best known for its high-end sunglasses was now in control of Saints Row, the politicians were as corrupt as ever, and Aunt Lola was now dating Tavier Simms, a Brotherhood up-and-comer. He finally had the chance to help, help the people of the Barrio District that once helped him, heck even help good ol' Julio. Despite all of his doubts, he petitioned, was accepted, and twelve days ago had been canonized._

_..._

Chaz looked down at his lower left arm. The bruising from his canonizing had faded to a nasty yellow blotch. He thought about his first mission, his first time running with the Saints. He was finally doing something to make a difference. He smiled and looked up just in time to see the bus make a left into Little Shanghai. The bus proceeded west.

"Wait, what?" Chaz looked out the window as he realized he had missed his stop about three blocks back.

He yanked on the cord and pulled his earbuds out. The Cheetah continued on for another four blocks before finally arriving at a scheduled stop. Chaz exited, looked around, and started running back east. He checked his cell phone for the time. It was 6:28pm. He was supposed to meet Mongrel and Bert up at the Red Light Loft at 6:30. He normally had to walk about five blocks from his regular stop and already knew he'd be late. Add another seven blocks and he would be lucky to get there before 7pm.

"Aw, damn," he said to himself, "I really am a noob."

* * *

><p>"So where's the noob?" asked Bert as he looked at his watch.<p>

"Don't call him that," said Mongrel as the two Saints waited in front of the _Red Light Loft_ for their fellow gang-member.

"Man, there you go being the big brother and trying to protect everyone, but still it's almost quarter to seven," Bert huffed. "We were supposed to be at _Tee'N'Ay_ by 6:30."

"No, Artemis told him to meet us here at 6:30; we have plenty of time."

"Okay, fine," Bert finally gave in.

"Besides nothing really starts happening 'til after 8pm anyway," Mongrel explained. "I don't know why you're so eager to leave right away."

"Well," Bert started, "we still gotta pick up Dice. You know she won't be ready when we get there. Then we'll have to sit and wait like an hour for her."

"Yeah," Mongrel agreed, "Okay, you have a point there."

"We're only suppose to be at _Tee'N'Ay_ for a little while, right? We're going to _On Track_ afterwards, right?"

"Depends.'" Mongrel shrugged. "Don't know what Artemis all has planned."

"Yeah, well…," Bert began, then caught sight of Chaz running up from the south. "It's about time!"

Chaz was out of breath when he finally got up to Bert and Mongrel.

"S-Sorry," Chaz puffed hard. "Mi-missed my s… my stop," He was hunched over, hands on his knees.

"It you're not careful," Mongrel said, "that could become your signature pose." He indicated Chaz's stooped posture.

Chaz glanced up at him with a lost look.

"Ya know, cuz…" Mongrel moved his arm up and down. "After the fight at Shivington, in the alley. By Brown Baggers. You were standing like…"

Chaz still did not comprehend.

"You know what? Forget it. I don't do jokes and this is why."

Bert looked at Chaz and asked, "That's what you're wearing?" Bert was currently wearing a black button down shirt with the Saints' fleur-de-lis embroidered in purple on the upper left side and black slacks.

Chaz looked at his own purple tank top and black jeans. "Um, it's not okay?"

"I'm just giving you shit, kid," Bert's brown eyes twinkled as he grinned.

Mongrel looked at him and sighed. "We ready to go?"

Bert nodded then headed towards his Wellington, a heavy two-tone station wagon painted royal purple and Abertowe gray. The highlights were all black titanium with a small amount of royal purple to offset it on the rims. Chaz stared at it. Bert noticed his look.

"You like?" he said with a smile, obviously proud of it.

"Um," Chaz started. The Wellington looked like a huge box; its squared design made it seem like a car built out of Legos.

"Vintage stuff this," Bert smiled as he grabbed a rag out of his back pocket. He polished the hood lovingly. "Early 1960s – 62 to be exact." He walked to the back and began polishing the fins. "This is all original stuff, even the tire cover." He pointed to the leather sleeve covering the spare tire hanging on the rear. "Whatcha think?"

"It's pretty cool," Chaz lied. The fins made the car look ridiculous, at least to him, but who was he to judge? His ride was a Cheetah bus; he didn't even own a car. "Uh, it's a true classic!"

Bert's face lit up. "You see there, Mongrel? Someone who appreciates the real classics!" He finished polishing the fins and walked around the front.

Mongrel rolled his eyes as he responded, "Its crap. Heavy and unwieldy. Poor handling…"

"But tougher'n Artemis's car," Bert defended. "Mine's just as reinforced as his. Bumpers, frame, tires, you name it. 'Course, they gotta be around here if you want your car to survive."

"I thought you owned a truck?" asked Chaz.

"That's just for carrying around heavy crap when the Boss needs something done."

"Oh," Chaz tried to sound interested. "Well, I'm glad you're driving us around in your car. It, uh, has style and class." He tried to come off sincere. It apparently worked.

"Ya know," Bert said, practically beaming, "I like you, kid. Get in. You get to ride in front with me." He looked at Mongrel as Chaz and he got in the front. "You can ride in back."

"Whatever…" Mongrel said getting in behind Bert.

As Bert started the car he said, "You're pretty cool, Chaz." He looked in the rearview mirror at Mongrel and winked as he continued, "Yeah, Mongrel's all calling you a noob and stuff, but your pal Bert was defending you." He tried to duck as Mongrel slapped the back of his head, but the tall, blond Saint was too quick. The blow stung. Bert just laughed as they pulled out and headed to Dice's apartment.

* * *

><p>Dice lived near the middle of Prawn Court on the third floor of a large apartment complex southeast of the Chapel. Her place was the third most southern apartment. Within sight of the el tracks, it was certainly noisy when the train went by. If one looked out of her front window, which faced west, one could make out the <em>On the Rag<em> clothing store across the street.

"Come on in, guys," Dice said as she opened the door, towel in hand. She had apparently just taken a shower and was in the midst of drying her hair.

"What'd I tell ya," Bert grumbled as he looked at his watch. "Its 7:08 and she's not ready."

"Um…" was all Chaz could get out as he gazed at Dice.

Dice had on a black baby doll tee that showed off her belly, black briefs with purple trim and similarly colored banded stockings that came up to her mid-thigh. Chaz stared uncomfortably from her to Mongrel and Bert then back to her again.

Mongrel just shrugged. "She's not very shy." He looked at Dice. "Are you?"

Dice glanced at Chaz as she dried her hair. "Pff. No."

Finished with her hair, she looked Mongrel over. He was wearing a black tank top, dark grey jeans, black worker boots and a necklace with a thick silver dogtag at the end. Black leather wrist cuffs and a wide brimmed black fedora with a purple hat band finished his look.

"Oh perfect," she said lighting up. "But lose the hat." She grabbed his fedora off his head and tossed it on her couch before he could complain. "Bert, hand me that white shirt there." Bert looked around and saw it hanging on the back of a metal kitchen chair.

"It's a bit wet," Bert said picking it up and handing it to her.

"What are we doing _now_?" Mongrel asked with a long sigh.

"Yeah, it's supposed to be damp," she said to Bert then wiggled a finger at Mongrel. "Come with me, babe." She grinned then headed out the front door of the apartment. Mongrel reluctantly followed.

"What's going on?" Chaz asked Bert.

"Don't know, kid," said Bert shrugging as he followed Mongrel out the door. "It's just Dice." The girl led Mongrel down the stairs past the second floor and on toward the first. "It could end with a little laugh, or lotsa gunfire, maybe both. Who knows. All I can say is that it'll be interesting."

"Should I close her door?" Chaz asked trying to catch up. Bert shook his head 'no'. They made it to the second floor landing when Dice, down on the first, turned around.

"What's with the parade?" she whispered sternly upon seeing everyone behind her.

"I didn't know what you were doing," Bert whispered back.

"You two can come down, but wait at the base of the stairs," Dice whispered then focused on Mongrel. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him about six feet forward. Smiling, she said quietly, "Stand there. Okay great. Now fold your arms." She moved his arms until they crossed his chest.

"Okay, now try to look menacing," she muttered with a grin. "Gimme a pissed off look like you're tired of waiting around doing stupid shit."

Mongrel just glared at her without having to apply any effort.

Completely oblivious to the fact, Dice squealed, "Perfect!" She smiled and quietly clapped her hands together with excitement. After posing Mongrel to her satisfaction, she unfurled the white shirt and rapped lightly on a wooden door labeled #103.

Chaz and Bert exchanged quick glances.

"Mr. Mendergan?" Dice called out in a light, shy voice. "Are you there?" She waited a moment. "Mr. Mendergan? It's me from room 314." A muffled reply came from behind the closed door. "Mr. Mendergan?" The door opened slightly.

"Whuzzat?"

"It's me, Mr. Mendergan. From up on the third floor."

"Margie, is that you?" the voice got clearer. The door closed and the sound of a chain-lock scraping across the inside of the door could be heard. The door reopened a second later. An old man stood in the doorframe. He was stooped, but still tall, probably about six foot one. He had just a wisp of white hair on the top of his head, and not much more around the crown. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and dark green jeans. In his left hand he held a 40oz.

"Yeah it's me, Mr. Mendergan," Dice said very softly as she shifted her weight to her right hip. She pulled her knees together slightly and slowly twirled her left leg on the ball of her left foot. She drew her shoulders in and looked down at the floor while holding the still damp shirt lightly against her chest.

Bert shook his head in admiration. With a sly grin he whispered to Chaz, "Damn, she is such a player."

"Who's Margie?" Chaz asked Bert. Bert just shushed him and then gave him a 'wait and see' look.

"I think the dryer's busted again," Dice said softly, eyes still downcast.

"Again, Margie?" the old man said with a slight hint of skepticism. He scratched at the day old growth of white whiskers on his face.

"I'm so sorry," she said demurely and shifted her gaze upward without raising her head. Looking up at him through her eyelashes, she muttered, "Here, feel." She extended the shirt forward about four inches. "It's all wet."

The old man reached out and felt the shirt and nodded. "Yeah, it is," he said then glanced behind her. "Who's this then?" he asked looking at Mongrel.

"Oh," Dice said quietly, "that's my boyfriend, Turk. We're supposed to go out tonight."

"_Turk_?!" whispered Bert. He sniggered, tried to catch himself but failed. Chaz merely grinned.

"And them?" asked the old man.

Dice glanced over her shoulder, gave Bert a look filled with venom, and then refocused her gaze doe-like back to the old man. "Oh, that's just Turk's friends," she said sweetly, then quieter but still loud enough so that Bert and Chaz could hear, "they're kinda stupid."

"They look it," the old man agreed. "I'll have my maintenance guy look at the dryer again. Sorry this keeps happening to you."

"It's probably my fault," Dice moaned, looking down again. "I'm probably just… just too stupid to figure out how it works. I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Mendergan."

"You ain't stupid, Margie. Don't say that." The old man placed a hand on her shoulder. "And I thought I told you to call me Stanley." He reached into his back pocket as he set the 40oz down. "Here's some money for the Laundromat." He handed her a five dollar bill.

"Oh thanks, Mr. Mender-," Dice started but then she caught the old man's look. "I mean, Stanley." She turned to Mongrel and offered him the shirt. When he just stood there and didn't reach for it, she glared hard at him. With a scowl she mouthed the words _Take it_. He finally did so with a glare of his own. She smiled then turned back to the old man.

"I'll bring you back your change," she said. "The dryer is only two bucks."

"Nonsense," he said waving her off. "Keep it. In fact here's an extra twenty for your date tonight." He placed another bill in her hand.

"Oh, I couldn't," she said but took the money readily.

"Hmmph, don't worry about it. Your boyfriend, no offense, doesn't look like the sharing type."

"Thank you," she said then stretched up on her toes and gave him a hug. She purposely leaned into him as the old man hugged her back. Dice held him for a long moment before letting him go. "I wish everyone was as nice as you," she said with a smile.

"And you," he chastised Mongrel, "be nice to her." Mongrel just smirked back at him. "Lousy punks," the old man mumbled as he picked up his 40oz and shut the door. The sound of the chain-lock being reset followed shortly thereafter.

...

Dice hushed her fellow Saints until they got back to her apartment.

Shutting her door, she said aloud, "Score! That's twenty-five bucks! Not bad for ten minutes work." She held the money up, beaming with pride.

"Oh, yes. You are _such_ the master criminal," taunted Mongrel. His hand darted out quickly and snatched the twenty.

"Hey!" Dice complained, trying but failing to get the money back.

"This is just my cut for all the glaring and shit I had to do," Mongrel smirked. He looked the twenty over. "You're right. Not bad for ten minutes work."

Bert made a move for the five still in Dice's hand. She slipped away and punched him in the arm.

"Ow! That hurt!" Bert laughed. "We should get something for having to play _Turk's_ dumb friends." He made as if he was going to grab for it once more but Dice punched him again. "Ow! Stop!"

"_You_ I can take," she assured him, her fist held ready to strike again if needed.

"Alright, keep your money!"

She nodded at Bert then eyed Mongrel.

Mongrel glanced at her fist then looked her square in the eyes. He shook his head and cocked an eyebrow as he leaned back against the wall. He folded his arms and crossed his legs in disdain, not afraid of her at all.

She narrowed her eyes, paused for a moment, and then tried a different tactic.

"Please, Blake," she cooed. "Please, can I have the money?" She slowly ran one hand through her hair and the other across her bare mid-section as she tilted her head back and arched her shoulders ever so slightly. "Twenty bucks will get you the best ten minutes you've _ever_ had," she purred. She looked at him seductively through half-closed eyes as she gently eased her fingertips down from her hair along the side of her face and finally down her neck.

"Shit," exclaimed Bert. "I'll give you twenty bucks!"

Ignoring him, Dice stared at Mongrel. With a mischievous grin she asked, "What do ya say?"

"Sure," Mongrel agreed as he handed over the twenty.

"Uh, wha-what, really?" she stuttered, unprepared for his reply and nearly dropping the money. Her eyes opened wide. "Jus'… just like that?"

"Yep," Mongrel replied then stepped closer. "Just like that." He leaned down and softly touched her waist with his right hand. With his left he gently lifted her chin, tilting her face towards his.

Taken completely by surprise at his sudden actions, Dice inhaled sharply as she felt her heartbeat quicken. She leaned toward him despite the fact that there was an audience. She grabbed his shoulder, her gaze completely focused on him. She parted her lips as he leaned in closer.

"Just one thing," he spoke gently. His breath was warm against her lips and cheeks, yet she felt goose bumps run along her shoulders.

"What?" she swallowed hard while trying to catch her breath. Mongrel glanced at Bert and nodded toward him. Dice didn't comprehend. "What… what about him?" she whispered.

"Well," Mongrel began as he blew across her neck ever so gently. She let out a small gasp. Her lids fluttered as her eyes rolled back into her head with anticipation. "I'm going to need my nineteen dollars and fifty cents in change back right away so I can give Bert some gas money."

"What?" she started, _**then**_ she realized what he said. Her eyes popped open and she pushed back from him. Her cheeks got bright pink as her face twisted into a sneer. "Fuck you, you… you fucking asshole!"

Dice balled her fist up as if to hit him, hesitated for a moment and then backed down. She turned toward her bedroom.

"I was just kidding," explained Mongrel as he stepped back, but before she completely turned her face away he saw the hurt look in her eyes. "Wait. Wait, no, I didn't mean…" he tried grabbing for her shoulder.

Dice stayed out of his reach and mumbled, "I gotta get ready." While she didn't exactly slam the bedroom door shut, she did use more force than necessary to close it.

"Damn it," muttered Mongrel.

"Dude, I respect you. A lot. I mean it," Bert said shaking his head, "but sometimes, man, you can be soooo stupid. And you're right," Mongrel glanced at him as he continued, "you really shouldn't do jokes."

"Damn it," was all Mongrel could reply.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm _still_ tweaking the rest of the original chapter, so it may be a while before it gets put up - sorry about the delay.**


	12. Ep 2: History, Part 4

****A/N: This chapter and Part 3 (the previous one) were originally one HUGE chapter that never ended. I trimmed close to four thousand words of useless drabble off of it and it finally... FINALLY... is, uh, somewhat tolerable. Not my best work, but, meh, here it is...****

* * *

><p><strong>Ep: 2: History Part 4<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Prawn Court, Red Light District, Southern Stilwater<strong>

** Thursday, April 14, 2011, 7:38pm**

** Dice's Bedroom**

Dice sat on her bed facing her dresser mirror silently berating herself for her own stupidity. Her eyes were starting to glisten from holding back her tears of anger. As she clutched her bear, Mr. Tumbles, she willed herself to calm down.

She looked up and caught her reflection in the mirror. She had no right to be angry. Blake wouldn't be with her again. He never should have been with her to begin with.

_**You don't deserve to be content… to be happy. Not after everything you've done.**_

The scathing voice was right. She had ruined their relationship. She ruined everything. She was poison.

She turned to look at the portrait of her mom and dad hanging above her bed. She closed her eyes as she remembered how she destroyed everything…

…

_Five years ago she was Margaret Catherine Lensher, an only child who lived with her parents in a nice house smack in the middle of Misty Lanes in the Suburbs District of Northern Stilwater. It was a good life in a pleasant neighborhood. She was sixteen at the time and had just finished her sophomore year at high school. She was what people would consider a 'good girl' – always did what she was told and always stayed out of trouble._

_ The Rounds Square Shopping Center under __Nob __Hill had just been opened by the Ultor Corporation in the High End Retail District. Her mother had wanted to go shopping there and her father, a very busy corporate manager, had finally gotten a weekend off to take them. It was a warm spring day, late in the season. The family had decided to make a day of it. _

_They walked the mall, admiring the new stores and food services. Margaret had joked she wanted one of the new sports cars the mall had on display, much to her father's chagrin.__They finished their shopping and were headed back to her father's car when Margaret spied a hot dog vendor on the street corner outside the mall's main entrance. She asked her father for a hot dog, who declined saying he had plans to take them to dinner. She begged her mother who finally gave in._

_The family approached the vendor and placed her order when the roar of motorcycle engines could be heard. The vendor got nervous as three yellow and white Kenshin motorcycles pulled up. The lead rider pulled a sub-machine gun out from under his jacket and opened fire at the vendor. Both the vendor and Margaret's mother were killed instantly while Margaret was hit in the left arm. As her father tried to help her, another cyclist roared forward on his bike, drew a sword off his back and swung at her father slicing his throat wide open as he drove past. The yellow suited bikers drove off laughing._

_Margaret cried for help. She crawled over the body of her mother to aid her father. No matter what she did, she couldn't stem the blood flowing from his neck. By the time the police arrived, he was dead._

_The next few months were a blur._

_The story of the attack on Margaret's family was highly sensationalized and edited by the !rto Network, showing her father as a random victim of Shogo Akuji as the gang known as the Ronin first came to Stilwater. Because she could identify none of her attackers, the police could do nothing to help her, although she later learned that the Ronin had been attacking the vendors in the area to build up their reputation for protection rackets._

_Worse, it turned out that Margaret's father had been offered a very lucrative one-time-only buy-in for an expansion project by Ultor. The buy-in was pretty steep and her father had mortgaged the house to the limit to get the money. The insurance money barely covered the funeral expenses, and with no family claiming her, she became a ward of the state. With very little financial knowledge and no one to help her, everything her family had was soon claimed by the legal teams of the business conglomerate to cover her father's debts. She was left penniless._

_Because of her, her family was dead. Because of her stupidity they had been killed and she couldn't even bring their attackers to justice. Because of her, all that her family had worked so hard for their entire lives was taken away. Everything was gone. Everything. All because of her…_

…

Dice jumped as the pounding on her door broke her out of her self-deprecating thoughts.

"C'mon!" called Bert, "We need to go!"

"Hold your motherfucking horses!" she screamed back as she quickly got dressed.

As she was about to leave her bedroom, she caught sight of her parents' portrait once again. "I'm sorry. I-I'm so very sorry," she whispered to them, sighed deeply, and opened the door.

The ride to Tee'N'Ay was uncomfortably quiet. Not even the music playing on Bert's radio seemed to lighten the mood. Dice rode in front with Bert and no one argued the change in seating arrangements. Oblivious to everyone else, Dice's haunted memories returned.

…

_The two years after the loss of her parents were the lowest in Margaret's life. With the displacement of low income families from Saint's Row and the loss of so much state funding, Margaret was shuffled around from place to place. She soon realized what a cruel place the world could be. She was attacked twice at the first shelter she lived in. She was assaulted by her first foster mother who just wanted the money the city was giving her to care for Margaret. She was even beaten by a gang of girls affiliated with the Brotherhood one day while walking to the corner grocer._

_The constant harassment changed her. She got addicted to drugs as a way to deal with her problems. She lost her virginity shortly after her seventeenth birthday to a guy she didn't know who barely spoke to her afterwards. She began stealing, first to continue her drug habit, then just because it was fun. She started learning how to manipulate people to get what she wanted. She became a broken, selfish mess._

_Then, luck finally came her way when she had been caught stealing from one of the runners for the Sons of Samedi while at a party. She fled but was soon trapped by the runner and two of his thug buddies who were going to teach the 'little girl' a lesson. _

_The thugs were interrupted by the arrival of two young women in a Hammerhead. The thugs told the women to mind their own business, but they seemed intent on getting involved – so intent that the brunette pulled out a huge handgun while the blond aimed a small sub-machine gun at the thugs who quickly fled the area._

_The two women called themselves the 'Casino Queens'. Katherine, the blonde and de facto leader of the pair, went by the name Kat and had a tattoo of three 7s (one red, one white, one blue) on her right arm, like slot machine symbols. Alice the brunette, known as Spade, had a symbol of the card suit spade on her neck._

_They took her under their wing and gave her a sense of belonging that she had not had since her parents' murders. Within a month, Margaret was the newest member of the Queens. She took the name Dice, getting a tattoo of a pair of dice, one showing a 6, the other a 1, on her lower left belly right above the hip._

_She came to regard them as her big sisters; they taught her how to survive on the streets and how to shoot a gun. After a lot of practice, Dice found she like the stopping power of the small SMGs better over the pistols. The SKR-9 Threat became her favorite weapon._

_They also gave her a code to live by - they never really tried to hurt innocent people. They were criminals, make no mistake, but they didn't go out of their way to terrorize people._

_During the first four months of running with the Queens, Dice actually shot and killed someone – a low-life Samedi drug pusher named Twitch. The killing didn't bother her much, but the fact that it __**didn't **__started to worry her. She was afraid that she was becoming amoral, that slowly all of her feelings would wither and die. She had lied, used sex, and committed crimes to advance her own comfort. She didn't think anything would matter to her beyond her friendships with her fellow Casino Queens and getting what she wanted. She would discover she was wrong._

…

"We're here!" Bert announced bringing Dice out of her musings.

* * *

><p>It was supposed to be a fun night, or so Chaz thought. It didn't seem to be off to a good start. He'd missed his stop, arrived late at the Red Light Loft to meet Bert and Mongrel and now Dice was pissed off after Mongrel joked around with her.<p>

He didn't know exactly why Dice was so angry. All the Saints were always joking with or messing around with each other. He figured, however, that it would be better that he just sat quietly and kept his thoughts to himself.

Once on Tee'N'Ay's parking lot Dice exited the Wellington without a word. She was off and halfway to the club entrance before the others even got out. By the time Bert, Chaz, and Mongrel got to the front door she was already inside.

Chaz became nervous as Bert, Mongrel, and he approached the strip club. He knew he wasn't old enough to enter, but apparently he shouldn't have worried.

Bert talked with the bouncer at the front counter and within two minutes the three entered the strip club. Music was blaring loudly over the speakers. Passing the bar, Bert nodded to three Saints there – Corey, Travis, and Nugget were their names if Chaz remembered correctly.

Dice was standing in the raised area at the north end of the club, glass in hand, talking with Artemis and another woman that Chaz didn't recognize. As they approached, Chaz got a better look at the lady through the pulsing lights and smoke of the club.

She was a well-built dark-skinned woman in her early twenties. She was tall, had deep brown eyes and gorgeous lashes. Her hair was in a short, pixie cut and dyed a light blond color. Her skin seemed to radiate a glow that matched her hair, although Chaz realized as he got closer that it must have been gold glitter of some kind. She laughed at something Artemis said as the three of them got close and her voice was almost magical. She could have been a model, high end stripper, or even a rock star for all he knew.

One thing he did seem to understand was that she liked the color gold. She was dressed in well-cut light blue jeans and a black leather jacket the buckles of which were all bright gold in color. Under her open leather jacket, she wore a gold metallic-colored bikini top. She had on black stiletto heels with gold straps. She wore a golden pendant in the shape of the Saints' fleur-de-lis on a gold link choker around her neck. The highlights in her hair as well as the glitter around her light blue eye-shadow and on her skin were all gold colored. Even her rouge and lipstick had gold flecks mixed in with the more dominate red color.

Artemis nodded as the three approached. To the newest member of his crew he said, "Chaz, I'd like to introduce you to one of the Saints' favorite ladies." He turned to the golden woman. "This is Darcy Sutter." Turning to the girl he continued, "Darcy, this is my boy, Chaz. Just canonized twelve days ago. And six days ago he had his first outing." Artemis patted him on the shoulder. "He did well. Held his own. He earned his purple colors."

Chaz smiled shyly. "Yeah, I guess."

"No guessing, son. Ya did good."

"Thanks, Artemis," Chaz turned to the golden goddess. "So, uh, you're with the Saints?"

Darcy nodded as she sipped on a Goldschlager. Even her drink had gold in it. "Yes. I was able to join up on their second recruiting campaign. Luckily Gat wasn't doing the canonizing personally anymore by that time, so I had it easy." Artemis and Dice both nodded with that statement.

"Yeah," said Artemis rubbing at some long healed wound on his face. "That shit hurt!"

Bert asked if anyone wanted a drink. Artemis declined saying he was driving.

"Just a water, Bert," Mongrel mumbled.

"Cola, please," Chaz said.

"I'm still working on my first," Darcy replied.

Dice replied, "You can get me another rum and cola."

"Another?" asked Bert as he narrowed his eyes. "You got in her maybe two seconds before we did."

"I'm thirsty," Dice explained, draining her glass.

Bert shook his head but placed the orders at the bar anyway.

Corey, a young Saint with dark blonde hair who also worked in Pierce's crew, called over to him above the din of the music.

"Bert, what's up, man?" he asked. "We take over another territory?"

"Nah," Bert called back while waiting on the bartender. "Artemis's new kid, Chaz, just had his purple cherry popped and so he decided to treat him."

"Shit," grumbled Travis, a dark-haired Saint. He looked over at Corey. "How comes you don't treat your boys that well?"

"Yeah, boss?" asked Nugget, a short Saint wearing a purple cap. He glanced over at Corey as well. "What's up with that?"

"Huh," Corey groaned, looking at his crew then back to Bert. "You, uh, be sure to thank Artemis for making me look bad, okay?" He raised his glass.

"Not a problem," grinned Bert.

Dice approached the bar, watching the bartender's progress.

"What's the hold-up, Big B?" she asked. "People be getting impatient."

"People meaning you," Bert retorted.

"Yeah, well…"

"Hey, Dice," Travis said with a wave.

"Looking good, girl," Corey announced, raising his glass again.

"Not too bad yourself, guys," Dice said with a wink and a smile. Her drink was set down by the bartender and she scooped it up quickly. "Play your cards right and I might just let you boys buy me a drink later."

"Oh wow," Corey responded sarcastically, "could we? It'd, like, totally make our night!"

Dice laughed as Bert grabbed the rest of the drinks.

"C'mon let's get back." There was a twinkle in his eye. "I wanta see newbie have a heart attack when he finds out what Artemis has planned."

"Okay, okay!" barked Artemis as they rejoined the group. "Chaz's no longer a virgin recruit. He got his first taste of the streets and survived it. Time for his reward." With a shake of his head, he handed a wad of cash to the manager. Three scantily-clad attractive strippers arrived on the stage near their area.

Artemis looked over at Chaz. "These ladies are for you. You get an hour's worth of lap-dances. Have fun." Chaz's eyes widened considerably.

"Think you can keep it up that long?" Bert challenged as he eyed the girls appreciatively. "If not gimme a call and I'll make the follow through."

* * *

><p>"WHOO-HOOO! YEAH!" yelled Bert as he shook his hips among the three beauties.<p>

"Well," Darcy observed with a rather disturbed look on her face, "I think I need another drink after witnessing that."

As she went to the bar, Artemis slid over to Mongrel.

"I think Bert's having more fun than Chaz," he grinned.

Mongrel nodded in agreement. "Chaz seems to be a bit overwhelmed." He smirked for a moment as Chaz sat on the couch enthralled by the girls. "I don't think he quite knows what to do."

"Chaz or Bert?" asked Artemis.

Mongrel actually chuckled at that. "Both, I guess."

Artemis and Mongrel watched their companions for a few moments. Darcy returned with a scowl on her face.

"Hon, I need to talk to you."

"What's wrong, baby?" Artemis asked, but he knew the look. Something was wrong.

"I know I'm just going to get bitched at for this later, but you promised this wouldn't happen again." Darcy glanced at Mongrel for a moment. "Could you give us a moment?" Mongrel nodded and got up to get another water.

"What's up?" inquired Artemis, concern on his face.

Darcy took a deep breath before speaking. "I know she's your friend," she began, "I get that. And, I try to like her, to… understand her. I really do. "

Artemis sighed as he guessed the cause of Darcy's displeasure. "What'd Dice do now?"

"She left."

"What?" asked Artemis as he sat upright, looking around the club. "This is supposed to be Chaz's night. I made plans at _On Track_ later. Where did she go?"

"Nugget just told me she had something like four or five drinks within the last half hour." Darcy shook her head as she continued. "She left with Corey and Travis."

Artemis had an incredulous look on his face. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"Hon," Darcy said as she touched his hand, "you really need to do something about her before she spirals out of control."


	13. Ep 2: History, Part 5

**A/N: Sorry this took so long to post, but my last chapter wasn't the best, so I tried making sure this one sounded alright... Anyway, meh, here it is...**

* * *

><p><strong>Episdoe2: History<strong>

**Part 5**

* * *

><p><strong>Prawn Court, Red Light District, Stilwater<strong>

** Friday, April 15, 2011**

** Too Early in the Morning**

An annoying buzzing noise brought Dice back to consciousness. It continued for a few seconds then stopped. She almost fell back asleep, but the buzzing sounded again. She rolled over and hatefully eyed her dresser where her cell phone vibrated slightly.

"Sssut dah pphhucup," she muttered into her pillow, willing the aggravating piece of technology to cease its irritating drone.

Surprisingly it did, for a moment. Then it buzzed again, clinking just enough against the dresser mirror to create a high pitched rattle.

"Oh, all the fuck right!" Dice complained as she squirmed out from the sheet twisted about her body. She reached out and snagged the source of her annoyance and looked at the screen.

**Incoming Call: Artemis**

**Missed Calls: 4**

"Oh fuck," she mumbled to herself and quickly flipped the phone open. "Uh, hey, boss, whassup?" she said quickly, trying to sound pleasant. She was sure she was going to get yelled at for leaving the party early last night.

"It's twenty after 9," Artemis informed her. "Wanted to make sure you're awake. We have the meeting with Pierce this morning at _Phuc Mi Phuc Yue_." Dice cussed silently as she rubbed her temple. She had completely forgotten about it.

"You didn't forget did you?" he inquired.

"Uh, no. Of course not!" Dice lied.

"Mm-hmm." Artemis didn't sound like he believed her. "I'm sending someone to come get you. Be ready for them."

"Okay," Dice replied. "Hey, I need to talk to you about last night. Ya got a second?"

"No, I don't," he said followed by a quick click.

Dice looked at the screen:

**Call Disconnected.**

"Yep," she sighed, "he's pissed." She stood and quickly gathered clothes together. "Today's just gonna be great."

...

As she took a quick shower, Dice thought back to last night's events. She _grudgingly_ admitted that she _may_ have overreacted _a bit_ at Mongrel's ill-conceived joke. His sudden show of affection had taken her completely by surprise and while she _justly_ became pissed at him, she shouldn't have held the grudge all night.

Drying off, she also admitted that she really should have stopped at two drinks not six. It didn't help matters any. She wasn't the most rational person at the best of times, and while plastered she was even worse.

Finally, she admitted to herself as she got dressed, that Chaz didn't deserve to have her run out during his party. Artemis had planned the event all week. She had let him down, too.

Dice usually relied on Mongrel to keep her in line when she did crazy shit – after all that's what his job was as her best bud - but with her being angry with him, it just didn't work out like it was supposed to. So in a way it was all _his_ fault. She paused at that last thought. She was pretty sure that her final bit of logic was flawed somewhere, but she had already admitted to being wrong about three other things – that was enough for today.

She grabbed up her pistol, her switchblade and her crowbar, Baby. She thought about taking her SKR-9 Threat, but decided she didn't need _too_ big of an arsenal.

Finally ready, Dice glanced at the kitchen clock before she hastened done the stairs. It was 9:43. She was going to be late.

"God, this day just keeps getting better."

* * *

><p>Dice paced the parking lot behind her building, waiting for her ride. Artemis didn't say who was picking her up, so she didn't know what kind of car to look for.<p>

After a couple of moments she began to wonder if maybe the person was waiting for her around the front. She decided to go check.

She was about halfway around the large apartment complex when she heard a light footfall behind her. Before she could turn, she was grabbed from behind. Her right arm was locked against her side and her left wrist was pulled away from her body.

"Time to pay up, Saint!" came a husky female voice.

Her shock was short-lived and she soon twisted and reached for the pistol in the small of her back.

"I'll fucking kill you!" Dice screamed in defiance. "I'll kill you!"

She was pressed up against the wall, face-first. She couldn't see her attacker or get any leverage but managed to finally pull her pistol. She tried to twist the gun to aim behind her.

The assailant changed her grip on Dice's right wrist. She placed her thumb about an inch below the bottom of Dice's palm and dug it in. Dice screamed in pain and dropped her pistol.

Dice tried bringing her knee up to push off the wall, but her attacker twisted her arms downward as she kicked out Dice's left leg from under her. Her right leg buckled and she spun collapsing on her back as her attacker released her hold.

Dice squinted up against the morning sun as the girl standing above her laughed and had the audacity to pull out a cigarette and lighter. The girl stepped closer as she lit the cigarette, blocking the rays of the sun. She was a paled-skinned brunette in her early to mid-twenties. She had long, dark almost black, wavy hair, brown eyes with flecks of green in them and eye-popping curves. She was wearing a low-cut top with hip-hugging black jeans that revealed several inches of her belly. She had a purple fleur-de-lis symbol on her belt buckle and a large tattoo of a black spade on the right side of her neck. Dice recognized her. It was her friend from the Casino Queens, one of the girls who had taught her to survive on the streets. It was…

"Spade?"

"Who else, bitch?" The girl took a heavy draw on the butt. "You never call, you never write!"

"Stupid!" Dice yelled. "You mighta got shot!"

"I can take you any day of the week except Thursdays," the girl remarked as she blew out the smoke. She reached down and pulled her friend to her feet. She retrieved Dice's pistol and handed it to her. "I wash my car on Thursdays and don't have time for wrestling with your cute ass then." She slapped Dice on the rear. Dice turned and balled her fist ready to strike.

"Really, Dice? Try it. I just laid you out quicker than a three dollar whore – hard, dirty and fast." Spade said it with a smile, but Dice held her blow. The girl noticed. "Oh, you finally learned after seventeen beat-downs."

"This one doesn't count!" Dice protested. "You ambushed me!"

"Oh right, cuz in the real world, the bad guys all fight fair and out in the open." Spade shook her head as she flicked away the cigarette. "Apparently I didn't teach you right." She started heading to the front of Dice's building. "C'mon! I gotta get you to the meeting for Artemis."

* * *

><p>Bert and Mongrel had arrived early for the meeting at <em>Phuc Mi Phuc Yue<em> and decided to order some food.

"Yeah, three of those eggroll thingies," Bert said, "and a cola." As the register person rang up his order, Bert turned to Mongrel. "Okay, the escort job is set up for tonight. Meet Sykes at _Tee'N'Ay_. He's expecting you. Just do whatever he says and it'll be cool."

Mongrel nodded. "Thanks, Bert."

"Oh and I'd bring two cell phones if I was you," Bert suggested.

"Why?" Mongrel stepped up to place his order. "Um, do you have any Green Dong Tea?" The clerk nodded. "Yeah, I'll take one of those and a cola." He paused for a moment. "Oh and can I get a cup with about three or four ice cubes in it? No water or anything, just ice. Thanks."

"Geez, thirsty much?" joked Bert. "Anyway, about your question. Sykes makes you fork over your cell phone. Doesn't want pictures being taken of the clients or his drivers making personal calls. It's always good to have a back-up. You know, hand over one to him, keep the other just in case."

"I got just the one," explained Mongrel. "I'll get another as soon as I get some money." Their orders came up and the two found a table near the back. "I mean that's kinda why I'm doing this in the first place. Gotta get Dice's gift first, then whatever's left over, well, we'll see."

* * *

><p>Spade's black and silver tricked out Hammerhead zipped in and out of traffic.<p>

"Whoops!" Spade squeaked as she pulled hard to the left barely missing a slow moving minivan. "Get off the fucking road!" she screamed as she passed.

"I'd like to get there in one piece, thank you," remarked Dice sarcastically.

"You_ can_ walk, ya know."

"So how'd Artemis talk you into this? Picking me up that is; you hate mornings even more than me."

"Oh, I volunteered last night when I saw him."

"You saw him last night?" Dice glanced over at her long-time friend. "When?"

"At _On Track_," Spade smirked with a quick glance at her passenger.

"You were at _On Track_?"

"A-duh!" Spade focused her attention on the road once again. "Yeah, Artemis had called me earlier this week and set it up. It was supposed to be a surprise for some ungrateful person who was a no-show." She glanced at Dice pointedly.

"Damn it," Dice sighed. The twinge of guilt she felt earlier was clawing its way back up. "I wished I'd of known. I kinda fucked that up," she admitted.

"Actually," Spade replied, "Blake said it was _his_ fault. That he was being a dick or something and pissed you off."

"It just blew out of control," Dice said.

They were silent for a moment as Spade sped through the streets.

"So this Corey and Travis situation I heard about," Spade inquired. "Is it something I'm gonna have to deal with? I don't like guys fucking around with my girl."

A confused look appeared on Dice's face. "What're you talking about?"

"Darcy was quick to point out that you left with Corey and Travis after having too much to drink last night." Spade's eyes narrowed. "Am I gonna have to shiv'em in an alley somewhere? You know for…"

"What?" Dice cut off Spade as she leaned back in her seat. "Oh no, no. It was nothing like that." She thought a moment. "Well, almost, but not them."

"What does that mean?" Spade looked confused.

"Well, ya know," Dice shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I kinda got this stupid thing with getting sorta friendly after too many drinks. And last night I had a few too many."

"Those motherfucks," Spade growled as she gripped the steering wheel tightly. "I will _so_ fuck them up for taking advantage of…"

"No, no! They didn't," Dice explained quickly. "The bartender cut me off at _Tee'N'Ay_ and I wanted something else to drink. Corey and Travis volunteered to take me to Brown Baggers last night. Afterwards, I tried to hit on Corey and all, but…"

"But what?"

"He turned me down."

"What, is he gay or something?" Spade glanced quickly over at Dice. "I mean I like playing for both teams myself."

"No," Dice said quietly. "It's kinda embarrassing actually."

There was a long silence that Spade finally broke.

"Well?"

"Yeah," Dice sighed, "he's got a girlfriend named Trish that he cares for a lot, and…" She trailed off.

"And, what?" Spade pressed.

Dice paused a moment then said, "He told me I was sweet and all and, uh, that he thinks I'm pretty, but…" She took a deep breath before continuing. "He said it would be better if we were just friends."

"What?" Spade looked incredulous. "Oh shit! You got the 'Let's be friends' speech?" She sniggered. "Seriously? Hah!"

"Look, it's not that I care about him," Dice defended. "I mean he is cute and all…"

"Yeah, but the 'Friends' speech?" Spade laughed out loud. "Oh wow! That sucks."

"Yeah, ya know you'd think it wouldn't matter. Especially since I was shit-faced and wasn't looking for a lifetime commitment or anything… but still." Dice just shook her head. "I mean he dropped me off at my apartment and everything. He was real nice about the whole situation."

"Still burns though, doesn't it? You're losing your touch, little girl," Spade joked. "Getting all flabby and shit." Spade reached over and pinched Dice's belly which was definitely not flabby.

"Stop it," Dice demanded as Spade continued. "Stop it, you fuck!"

"Well," Spade offered as she ceased harassing her friend, "anytime you decide to switch up, just let me know." She winked at her. "I'm pretty sure I could get you to see things in new and interesting ways."

"Ugh! I told you... I'm not into girls, Spade." She shook her head. "Besides, I think of you like a big sister. That'd be just… weird."

"Then it'll be incest!" her friend said with a laugh.

"Oh my Christ, Spade! You'll screw anything cute that twitches."

"Yeah but the twitching is the best part!" she exclaimed.

The Hammerhead finally arrived at the restaurant. Spade looked at her phone for the time.

"Damn it. Sorry kiddo, you're still a couple of minutes late."

"That's cool. Thanks for the lift." Dice opened the car door to get out.

"Hey! What's your new number? We need to hook up some time."

"Yeah," Dice agreed. "That'd be cool; let me get yours as well." She fished around her pockets. "Aw, fuck! My phone's still on the dresser. I always forget the stupid thing."

"Well just give me your number and I'll call you," Spade said.

Dice nodded and gave the number to her friend who saved it on her phone. She thanked her again for the ride then quickly trotted into the restaurant. Spade just shook her head with a smile before driving off.

* * *

><p>Dice looked around the Asian restaurant and spied her fellow Saints in a small group near the back of the dining hall. She quickly approached and looked to see who all was here already. Bert's crew was at a middle booth.<p>

Red-headed Dennis was Bert's second, known for providing tactics for Bert's crew. Bert and he had known each other for over fifteen years having grown up in the same neighborhood. When out on a job for the Saints, it was a rare thing not to see the two of them together.

Rico was Bert's heavy-hitter, a solidly built Mexican kid who was known to be a player. His line, 'Hey, baby, you can trust me… I'm a Saint,' was infamous amongst the girl gang-members who learned to avoid him. He was also known for being a jerk, another reason the ladies left him alone. He was not as bad as the asshole Tommy, but Dice could see him fitting in well with his crew.

The shortest of Bert's crew was also his newest, Dominic. Dominic was five-seven and had just turned eighteen years old. He had a full mop of dark brown hair and was a bit on the thin side. Regardless he was able to hold his own and was already getting a decent rep as a loyal gang member. Moreover, Bert loved the hell out of the kid, treating him like the little brother he always wanted but never had.

At a table to the right were seated Artemis and Chaz. Artemis had a look of annoyance on his face and tapped a bare spot on his wrist where a watch would normally be. The meaning was not lost on Dice.

In the far corner were Bert and Mongrel. Dice hesitated when she saw them, but Mongrel moved over and patted the seat next to him. She nodded and took the offered chair. He produced a green tea and slid it in front of her. She smiled at the peace offering; she liked green tea, but loved it cold. The only thing better would be a cup of ice, which Mongrel produced from behind the napkin holder. Her smiled broadened and she slid over and shoulder-bumped him, her way of saying they were all good again.

"We all here then?" asked a figure at the final table facing the others. It was none other than Pierce Washington himself, one of the lieutenants of the Third Street Saints. He was a handsome, well built black man in his early twenties sporting a small mustache. He was dressed in a purple and white sports jersey with a white doo rag under his purple and white baseball cap.

Pierce was well known for being a good strategist and making long, elaborate plans. They never seemed to pan out for him as his two most frequent partners in crime were the Boss and Johnny Gat, neither of whom were patient enough to follow his directions. Still Pierce was able to find information quite easily and thus had made a name for himself. It was easy to see why Artemis admired him so much.

"Yes, sir," Artemis replied, "that's everyone."

"Good," Pierce began. "We need to go over a few things." He stood up from his seat and indicated a young Asian man next to him. "This is Kim San. He will be part of this crew and will be shown the same respect as any other gang member." There were a few murmurs at that, mostly from Bert's crew.

"Excuse me, boss," Dennis started, "… but we're just supposed to accept that? He doesn't have to be canonized or anything?"

"Boss's orders," Pierce replied. "If it's okay with her, it's okay with us. That's it. Unless any of you want to argue the point with her directly." No one did.

"Good," he continued, "next point is where we stand. The Saints still aren't nearly as powerful as they need to be. Currently we control Old Stilwater, Frat Row, Pilsen, Pleasantview, Bavogian Plaza, and, thanks to support from Artemis and his crew, the Boss Lady took out the drug labs in Shivington making it ours now." At this Bert and his crew hooted and gave a small applause to Artemis who just smiled and nodded at their recognition.

"Alright, settle down," he went on. "We got quite a few businesses, the newest being both Brown Baggers and _Bling Bling_ in Shivington." He walked behind his chair. "Finally, we got a new crib as well. In addition to the Red Light Loft and the hideout at Club Purgatory, we recently acquired a university loft in Frat Row in the Stilwater University District." He eyed them all. "Consider it a safe-house like the others. You need help, a place to lay low, or even resupply, then you can go there."

He turned his chair around and sat down. "Okay, any questions?"

Artemis spoke first. "What are our current plans, then? Anything we need to be prepared for?"

"Well, the focus right now is the Samedi. The Ronin are on sort of on hiatus. I got a little something planned, but it won't involve anyone here. As for the Brotherhood… well, we're still working on that."

"I heard that the Boss and Carlos were supposed to have a sit-down with Maero," Bert stated. "How'd that go?"

"Yeah, about that," Pierce smirked as he shook his head. "Maero agreed to divide up the city between the Brotherhood and the Saints." The crew exchanged quick glances and nodded at each other. "But Maero only offered to give the Boss twenty percent."

"Of what?" asked Mongrel unsure of what he meant. "His share?"

"No," Pierce smirked again. "Of the city." There were a few dropped jaws and 'You gotta be kidding me's.

"Oh," remarked Bert, "So the Boss shot the crap outta Maero and now he's dead. Well, I guess the Brotherhood won't be a problem any longer."

"Unfortunately, no," Pierce said with a wry grin. "Stilwater's finest decided to break up the party before negotiations could continue. Maero and the Boss parted ways. Peacefully from what I gather, which isn't such a bad thing. I'm just saying, it'd be difficult for us to wage a multi-front war at the moment. Any other questions?"

"Why, uh," Dice finally piped up, "why are we attacking the Samedi?" She paused. "I mean, are we going to take the Ronin down?" She had more than enough personal reasons to see the Asian gang crash and burn.

"The Boss wants to get the drug trade under control," Pierce replied. "Rather than see the money filter to the Samedi she wants it go to the Saints. We need the bankroll to fund our expansion."

"No, I meant, uh," Dice paused and looked over at Mongrel for support. "I meant, like why us here." She indicated the assembled Saints. "I thought Shaundi's crew were supposed to take care of the Samedi."

"I'm actually glad you brought that up," Pierce said with smile.

"Oh," she said surprised. "Um thanks… I guess."

"You are correct when you say that Shaundi is in charge of the Samedi," explained the Saints' lieutenant. "But the Samedi are extremely dangerous. Murderous and all sorts of fucked up." He paused. "And no disrespect, but our girl Shaundi can't handle that type of responsibility. I mean most of the info she gets is usually from one of her exes."

He looked down for a moment and shook his head. "She ain't even that useful in a fight. Doesn't seem to matter, though, she always seems to get the credit anyway, even for _my_ ideas," he seemed to be talking more to himself than his crew.

"Anyway," Pierce finally looked up, "it comes down to the best crew to take up the slack. The way I see it, unless something happens, the Boss is always gonna be in charge and Gat's always gonna be second-in-command. I can live with that." He stood up.

"However, Carlos, Shaundi, and I were all recruited at the same time. So we all have to step up our game. We need to show the Boss who she can count on the most." He gestured to them. "You guys are the best of my crew. We're gonna make ourselves available for whatever needs doing. Whether Shaundi needs help taking out the Samedi, or Carlos is having problems with the Brotherhood." He nodded.

"I know once the Boss recognizes our skills, then you and me will get the credit we deserve and the Saints will come out that much better. What do you say?"

The cheers from his crew verified what Pierce already knew. He had chosen the best and most loyal of the Saints for his crew. Now it was time to use them to their full potential.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hope I got Pierce right - sounds like him, but ya never know.**

**Anyway, in case anyone was wondering, yes this chapter does just seem to end right in the middle - that's because this is another drag-on forever chapter that just wouldn't stop (AAARG). The second half of this chapter will be posted on Monday or Tuesday.**

**Thanks to everyone reading my story - I appreciate your patience.**


	14. Ep 2: History, Part 6

**A/N: This lil chapter is actually part of the last one**

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><p><strong>Episode 2: History<strong>

**Part 6**

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><p><strong>Phuc Mi Phuc Yue restaurant<strong>

**Little Shanghai, Chinatown District, Stilwater**

**Friday, April 15, 2011, 11:42am**

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><p>The meeting was over and the Saints began to disperse. Artemis finished talking to Bert and was preparing to find Chaz so he could drive him home when Dice approached.<p>

"Hey, boss," she greeted with a shy smile, "I managed to make it."

"Barely," he groused.

"Yeah," the smile faded. "Uh, Spade told me about last night."

"Did she?" Artemis began moving to the front of the restaurant where he spied Chaz. "Hmmm, well, you could've talked to her at the party I had set up at _On Track_ had you been there."

"I know, I know," Dice said quickly as she tried to match his pace. "I fucked up. _Again_. I know."

Artemis reached his youngest crew member. "You ready to go?" he asked. Chaz nodded.

"Wait," Dice said as she moved in front of him, trying to block his path. "Look, I'm sorry. Really, it was super-cool what you did getting Spade to show up last night and I messed up and missed it entirely and I realize that because I'm stupid sometimes…" she was rambling, "… I just do dumb things and I wasn't mad, well, yeah, okay, I was at first, but not at you or Chaz, it was something else entirely." She finally paused. "Okay, please, I'm sorry. Don't be pissed at me."

Artemis paused, sighed, and hung his head down. After a moment he looked up and glanced at Chaz. "You got any plans tonight?"

Chaz hadn't expected the question. He was quiet for a second then answered, "Uh, no. No, sir, not really."

Artemis faced Dice again. "If you're really sorry," he began, "a good way to show it would be to take your boys out tonight with the money you just got from Pierce." They had each received close to three hundred dollars for their work at Shivington on the eleventh.

Dice looked hopeful.

"You got previous plans?" he asked her.

"Uh, wha? Me? No! Not at all!" She was all smiles again. "Yeah, you guys c'mon over! Hahah! We'll catch a show, maybe get some drinks."

"No alcohol," Artemis stated firmly. "Not after last night."

Dice nodded vivaciously. "Yep, er, I mean no! None!" She shook her head furiously. "I, uh, I just meant like soda and tea and stuff. Yep!" She started nodding again.

Artemis tried to stay upset with her, but her wild enthusiasm made him grin. "Alright, no crazy shit, got it? None of this." He waved his hands wildly in the air.

Her smile broadened. "No crazy shit, right!"

"We'll be over around nine tonight. I gotta take care of a few things first. Be ready for us, alright?"

"You got it, boss!" she exclaimed and gave him a mock salute. Artemis just shook his head.

"And one more thing," he said.

"Yes?"

"You need to resolve whatever's up with Mongrel and you."

Her smile vanished immediately as she glanced over to where Mongrel and Bert were waiting. Bert had agreed to give her a lift home when she was ready to go.

"Yeah, I planned to. I just need to figure out what to say."

"He'll be cool, you know that," Artemis reassured her. "Just say whatever's on your mind."

She turned and stared pointedly at Artemis. "Yeah, cuz, ya know," she mumbled, "_that_ always works."

* * *

><p>Bert was mulling over the major points of the meeting as he drove Mongrel and Dice back home. He wasn't too thrilled about having to pick up the extra slack for Shaundi, Carlos, and their crews. Like Dice had mentioned, Pierce and his crews were supposed to be working on the Ronin, but as far as he knew, they hadn't even begun to mess with the yellow and white attired gang.<p>

Artemis hadn't minded the situation at all; he saw it as an opportunity – an opportunity to plan and strategize, to expand the power of the Saints and drive the new gangs out of Stilwater. Meh, whatever. Bert just wanted to have fun - Artemis had ambition, and while that was good and all, there was no point in working so hard if you couldn't enjoy the fruits of your labor.

His thoughts were interrupted by the fidgeting of his backseat passenger. He glanced into his rearview mirror. Dice had been quiet on the trip home – at first he thought she was pissed about something, _again_. As they continued driving, though, he realized she seemed… nervous?

Splitting his attention between driving and glancing at her in the mirror, Bert tried to figure out what was going on. Dice would look down for a bit, and then up again. She would gaze out of her window, sigh, then focus her attention on the back of the front passenger seat where Mongrel sat. This routine repeated a few times, until she finally noticed him watching her. At that point, she smiled, leaned against the door and stared out her window.

As they continued along, he glanced at the mirror a few more times to make sure she was okay. She continued to stare out of her window, but every once in a while she would shake her head. Bert finally shook his own head and gave up trying to figure her out. He had other things to think about… like the Feed Dogs.

The Feed Dogs were a crap rock band whose lead vocalist and guitarist was Matt something or other. Corndog from _The Krunch 106.66_ hated them and even the recently-dead DJ Veteran Child of the _89.0 Generation X_ – now _Ultor FM_ - radio station had thought they sucked. Honestly, Bert didn't care – he didn't even like them. But Tonya did.

Bert smiled as he thought about Tonya, his Amazonian goddess. She was tall, beautiful, and always smelled like vanilla and cherries. She was also one of the sweetest girls he knew and didn't really seem like she belonged to a street gang like the Saints, but he was glad she did.

He had developed a crush on her about four months ago, right before Christmas, and had been looking for an excuse to ask her out. Something always seemed to come up, but this time… this time he had a plan. He had found out Tonya liked the Feed Dogs (god knows why) and had managed to get two tickets for one of their upcoming concerts over the summer. She was going to be at Club Purgatory tonight and he was going to ask her if she wanted to go. With him, of course. He smiled again. Ah, yes, his plan, though simple, couldn't possibly fail.

* * *

><p>Artemis arrived at his townhouse.<p>

"Dar, baby? You home?"

"In the kitchen," came the reply.

Artemis smiled and headed toward the back of the first floor. At the kitchen table, drinking a white mocha latte was his lady. She was relaxing with a simple yellow pull-over that had the Skeeters logo on it and loose-fit jeans. As usual, she had her nose crammed in one of her books; this time it was _A Fragile State of Mind: the Inner Psyche_. On the table were two other equally grim tomes: _Blood and Screams: Why People Self-Mutilate_, and _The Mad Ramblings of Pascal Danvers: A Study of Abnormal Psychology_.

For the past eight months or so Darcy had been taking college classes online. She idolized Aisha, one of the original Saints who had a career outside of the gang and she decided she should have a career of her own. Instead of producing music, though, she wanted to study psychology.

"Oh, a romance novel, huh?" Artemis asked sarcastically.

"No," she replied, glancing up for a moment, "just doing a little _light_ reading."

"Uh-huh." He opened the fridge and grabbed a cola.

Returning to her book, she inquired, "How'd your meeting go? Pierce happy with you guys?"

"Very," answered Artemis with a smile. "We're doin' well. I think both he _and_ the Boss were quite pleased." He opened the can of soda, took a sip and then pulled out his wallet. "Speaking of which, here's two hundred bucks for my share of some of the bills." He handed her a wad of cash. "I'm just gonna hang onto the rest for tonight."

Her face lit up as she tore her gaze from the book. "Oh really?" she asked with a huge grin. "Where're we going?"

"Uh," Artemis hesitated for a moment then continued. "Actually I'm going to hang with Chaz tonight. And, uh, Dice." He turned and took a fast drink of the soda hoping she may not have heard him correctly.

"What?" she asked in a sharp tone. When he met her gaze again the grin was gone, replaced by something not very pleasant.

"Before I get the third degree or fourth and fifth, just let me explain," he said as he quickly pulled out a chair and sat beside her. She leaned back and folded her arms. _Great, here we go._ "It's just that…"

"No," Darcy interrupted, holding up a hand. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "If I argue, then I'm the bad guy. I'm not gonna do it." She waited a moment and slowly opened her eyes. "Just be careful. You know… you know she has problems, right?"

"And you'd prefer if I didn't get mixed up in them, right?" he asked with a huff.

"Look, I'm no expert. Not yet, anyway," she began, "but I'm beginning to think your friend might have PTSD. You said her family was killed right in front of her, right?"

"Yeah," admitted Artemis, "I pieced it together from things Dice, Spade, and Mongrel have said over time."

"She probably has post traumatic stress disorder and a good bit of survivor's guilt mixed in." She paused. "The best thing for her would be therapy."

Artemis shook his head, "Well, she told me both she and Lucia were assaulted at the last place she had therapy. I doubt she would try it again."

"She was assaulted there?"

He nodded. "City sanctioned group therapy sessions. After one of the sessions, she and Lucia were waiting for a ride outside the center when they were jumped by like four or five guys. Apparently there wasn't any security at the place or at least very little of it."

"Christ." Darcy was appalled.

"Lil Sister can't catch a break." He looked down for a moment. "I mean, she's good people, you know. A bit crazy sometimes, but still." He was quiet for a second then looked her in the eyes. "I know you think I'm too easy on her sometimes, and I am," he admitted. "But sometimes life just isn't fair. Some people... some people may do stupid shit, bad shit, but it doesn't make _them_ bad, ya know?" He reached over and grabbed her hand. "Some people just need help. They just need someone to be there."

"Yes and…" she started but he cut her off.

"I know you think I have, what it's called? A hero complex? And, well, maybe I do." He squeezed her hand. "You may say I try to emulate my father or you can give me some crap statistic about how American firefighter casualties are eight times as high as anywhere else because they rush in trying to live up to the expectation of being heroes. Well guess what? You know how many regular, everyday people suffer or even die because others just stood by and did nothing? A helluva lot more." He paused then stated firmly, "I'm not going to be one of those that just stand by. I'd rather die trying to be a hero for someone like Dice, then be a coward and abandon her just because it may cause a problem for me."

"Yes, and I agree," Darcy said.

"What?" He was surprised. "I, uh…"

"I never said you shouldn't be there for her." She squeezed his hand back. "In fact, I think it could be one of the best things for her. You're focused, determined. She needs a friend, a good friend, in her life that can bring some order to it. You need to be there for her and listen when she needs someone to talk to."

"Um, okay."

"You're a good man, William," she told him with a smile. "It's one of the reasons I love you."

"So, no arguing?" he asked just to be sure.

"No arguing," she agreed.

"And you're not mad that I'm going out with Chaz and Dice tonight instead of with you?"

She patted his hand gently, pulled away and then picked up her book again. "Oh, I didn't say that, now did I? You're gonna have to work hard to make this up to me."

Artemis sighed as he shook his head. _Great. Just great…_

* * *

><p>Bert eased his Wellington into the parking lot of Dice's apartment complex in Prawn Court.<p>

"Here we go," he announced.

"Thanks, Bert," Dice said then shifted her gaze to Mongrel. "Hey, uh, you forgot your fedora yesterday. Ya want to come up and get it?"

Mongrel nodded and started getting out of the car. "I'll be right back, Bert."

"Yeah, whatever," Bert grumbled as he turned the engine off. "I'll be waiting here. Cold and alone. No one to love me." Mongrel just smirked.

…

Dice retrieved her mail and read through it as she headed upstairs.

"Shit, I need to pay this today," she grumbled looking at a long overdue electric bill. "I'm glad we finally got our money this morning."

"You have enough?" inquired Mongrel.

"Yeah, I just forget to keep paying these things. I'll send them money today from Big Al's Grocery Store up a couple of blocks. They got one of those money wire thingies at the service counter."

Once inside the apartment, Dice located and retrieved the hat from the couch where she had tossed it the previous night.

"Thanks," said Mongrel as she handed it to him.

"Hey, look, can we talk a sec?" Dice asked quietly. "Um, the shit from yesterday, um…"

"Wait," interrupted Mongrel, "I know what you're gonna say."

"You do?"

"Yeah and you're right."

"I am?" Well _that_ was new.

He paused, turning the hat around in his hands. "Look, we were pretty good together at one time, right?"

"Yes," she smiled, "we were." She thought back to when she first asked Blake out over two and a half years ago. She had thought he was cute and so well-mannered, but too damn shy. They stayed together for a while but she wasn't used to being with just one person for so long.

"And we pulled through some rough times as well, ya know?" he continued.

"Yeah, we did." Her smile faded slightly as she began remembering the incident she had caused. He had needed her for something very important, but she was off getting high again. She wasn't there when it mattered and she had never forgiven herself. She broke off their relationship. She should have known she wasn't good enough for him, at least not back then. She just knew she was going to let him down again. That's what she did to everyone – let them down.

"We always manage to stay close though, right?"

"Right." She went to rehab and cleaned herself up, vowing never to let the drugs use her, never let them control her again. It was rough, but she had Spade and Kat and even little Lucia back then to help her through it. She hadn't talked to him for nearly four months, her way of punishing herself.

When she finally did contact him again, it wasn't what she expected. She thought he would hate her, but instead it turned out he missed her. A lot. He told her that he wanted to see her again and that - she paused at the thought - he told her that he _loved_ her. After the drugs, the disappointments, the break-up, and even her vanishing for months, he loved her? She panicked. No one was supposed to love her, didn't he understand? She was poison.

She didn't want to date him again; she was _afraid_ to date him again. She thought she didn't deserve to have someone love her, that she wasn't punished enough for the deaths of her parents. It wasn't what she wanted at the time.

"Anyway, look, I'm sorry for what I did," he admitted. "We've talked about this before and I shouldn't have messed with your feelings." He paused. "I'm really, really sorry for being a jerk."

"Well, actually..." Dice said aloud. She was so very tired of being by herself. Of just picking up guys wherever and whenever because she was lonely. Maybe it was time for a change. Maybe Blake still loved her. Maybe they _could_ be together again. Maybe she could finally admit that she lov...

"No, I get it," Mongrel said putting a finger to her lips. "You don't have to say anything. Everything's cool this way. I know how much we care about each other, but you're right. We need to just stay friends."

Dice blinked. This wasn't how the conversation was supposed to go.

He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. "I'm glad we're alright again. It sucks when you're mad at me."

"Um, that's… okay?" It wasn't really a statement.

"Look, Bert's waiting on me," Mongrel said. "I gotta get going. He's got a job lined up for me tonight and I got to get ready. You know, be early, talk to the manager and see what he wants me to do exactly. I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah, sure." She should really say something.

And then he was gone.

About a minute later she heard Bert's station wagon start up and drive away. She stayed quiet a moment longer, then…

"OH MY FUCKING GOD!" she screamed to no one. "SERIOUSLY? What THE FUCK was THAT?" She stomped off to her bedroom and snatched up her bear. She sat on the side of her bed and stared at Mr. Tumbles.

"The 'just friends' speech! TWICE! In like twenty-fours!" She yelled at her bear. She flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

Guys were _stupid_! God, Spade was sooo right. She definitely needed to hook up with a girl. Spade was kinda hot after all.

"Ugh! No!" she said flustered and closed her eyes. "Things would just be better if everyone just did what I wanted them to do! I mean, what's wrong with that, huh?" She held Mr. Tumbles tight and waited for a reply.

Nothing.

She sighed and stayed that way for a while and, without realizing it, soon fell fast asleep.

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><p><strong>AN: Yay! The _drama_ part's finally over and we can get back to the _crime_ portion of our Crime/Drama story.**

**There's violence aplenty next chapter - bullets, blood, and just maybe... the deaths of a couple of Saints.**

**You have been warned.**


	15. Ep 2: History, Part 7

**A/N: I want to reiterate: Rated M for scenes involving excessive violence, language, and adult content in this chapter.**

**Please read no further if these aren't your thing as I don't wish to offend anyone.**

**Also, just to forewarn you, the perspective jumps around a lot in this chap**

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><p><strong>I own nothing but my Original Characters and my own ideas.<strong>

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><p><strong>Episode 2: History<strong>

**Part 7**

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><p><strong>Prawn Court, Red Light District, Stilwater<strong>

**Friday, April 15, 2011, 8:53pm**

**Big Al's Grocery Store**

…

Gary Desh looked at the time on the register and smiled. His shift was about to end. All he needed to finish was to clean up the customer service area – which he had already done – and count his register down at 9pm. He should be able to leave by twenty after at the latest.

He planned to see his girlfriend, Rachelle, after work. Both Rachelle and he were off tomorrow so they could stay out late tonight. Maybe they'd go out to eat – he _was_ hungry – or they could just catch up on some of their favorite shows streaming on the computer. It wasn't the most exciting life, but they had fun with each other and that's what mattered.

It was with only seven minutes before Big Al's Grocery closed, that the girl literally ran up to the customer service counter. She was a short, pretty girl with hazel eyes and a mess of blonde hair in a shaggy bob. She was wearing a purple baby doll shirt with a white emblem of a big-eyed anime girl and had on a pair of fingerless leather gloves that were holding crumpled up pieces of paper. Was that a pink crowbar tucked through one of the belt loops of her black cargo pants?

"Ineedta… sendthizmonynow… billsoverdue," she managed between pants. She slammed a small postcard sized piece of paper and a pile of wadded up cash on the counter.

"Um, what, ma'am?" the clerk asked with a confused look on his face. "I didn't get that."

She held up a finger as she leaned against the counter. "Aw, fu…" –pant- "din' think I'da," –pant- "Oh, fuck me."

The clerk blinked. "Excuse me, ma'am?"

"What?" She finally caught her breath. "Ma'am? Who the hell?" She stood upright. "Do I look like I'm sixty?"

"I'm sorry, what? Sixty? Um, no," Gary muttered.

"Are you from Texas?" The girl asked with a scowl.

"Uh, no."

"Then don't 'ma'am' me," she growled. "I need ta pay my bill, and you're only open for like five more minutes." The flustered girl slid the bill to the clerk. "Here." She started straightening out her money and passed it to him as well. "And here."

"There's a charge…" he began to explain.

"I know," answered the girl as she continued to straighten the money. "There's enough." She shook her head as she worked. "Fucking 'ma'am'. Whatever."

Exactly six minutes and forty-two seconds later, Gary handed the girl a receipt for the wire transfer.

"Thank you for choosing Big Al's and come back again," he said with a smile. The little whirlwind that was his customer waved as she shook her head and left.

Gary was quite pleased when his manager locked the store's front doors a few seconds later.

* * *

><p>Dice left the grocery store and began walking the two blocks back to her apartment.<p>

After the meeting, she had a talk with Blake that turned out nothing like she wanted it to. Frustrated, she lay on her bed to calm down but fell asleep instead (she wasn't really a morning person) awakening a lot later. After showering and changing her clothes, she came across the overdue bill.

Panicked, she set off with a wad of quickly scooped up cash and her typical smattering of weapons – NR4 pistol with two clips, her pink crowbar, and her switchblade. The weapons were more out of reflex than necessity, like some girls gathering lip gloss and a compact.

She managed to wire the money right before the store closed and was now trying to get home before 9 o'clock when Artemis was supposed to meet her. She was so worried about making it home on time, she almost didn't notice the large Anchor van driving down the street. _Almost._

One of the less pleasant realities of a city like Stilwater is that there was an extremely high crime rate. When someone lives in such a city, daily life makes you aware of it. When someone lives _on_ the streets, your awareness of it intensifies. When you're a young woman who has experienced it firsthand several times before, you _expect_ it.

Dice was making her way along the sidewalk, looking to cross the street. Traffic was light, even though it was a Friday night. She waited as the large dark van passed by before she crossed. The large dark van with the tinted windows and the vague figures inside, that slowly crept down the street like a predator. The large van that after passing her, eased into the nearest alley, stopped and slowly backed up. The large van that, even now, was driving her way again.

_Uh oh._

* * *

><p>Mongrel sat in the driver's seat of the black Justice parked under the southern part of the overpass. The car's backseat passengers had requested that he pull over. The overpass was located on the dividing line between the northwest corner of the Rebeadeaux neighborhood under control of the Ronin at the moment and the northeastern corner of Sunnyvale Gardens owned by the Samedi, making it neutral territory of sorts.<p>

He was currently dressed in a chauffer's outfit, including the cap. He was fairly confident that without any purple attire, he'd be left alone. Moreover, the 'escort' business was lucrative for the gangs. It was highly unlikely that they would try to disturb it. News hungry camera crews looking for the latest dirt or ex-spouses were another thing, but fortunately, he hadn't seen any of that this evening.

The toe of an expensive high heel shoe suddenly bumped lightly into his right shoulder reminding him of the presence of the backseat occupants. He glanced up into the rearview mirror, adjusting it slightly so he could keep an eye on the escort.

She was pretty enough with long brown hair and gorgeous legs. She had the remnants of a sexy nurse costume on and was currently 'entertaining' a slob of a man in a business suit whose pants were pulled past his knees. Facing forward, she caught his look in the mirror and smiled.

"Ah, bitch, yer doing real good," groaned the sorry excuse in the suit to the woman. He was kneeling on the floorboard with his back to Mongrel and hadn't noticed the escort smiling at their driver. Mongrel looked away in disgust. He wasn't a voyeur and began thinking that this job wasn't worth the money.

He was poked in the shoulder again. Looking up into the mirror, he saw the woman still staring at him.

"Oh, yeah baby," she cooed to her client while keeping her eyes locked on Mongrel's, "you're doing fine." She smiled again at Mongrel, never breaking eye contact.

He suddenly realized that in many ways she was the same as him. Neither wanted to be there, but circumstances conspired to put both of them at this place at that moment. He didn't know her history, what situation caused her to have to take this line of work. Did it really matter?

Too many people looked down on escorts, hookers, prostitutes, strippers, whatever you wanted to label them, but damn if every criminal organization, institution, or gang didn't have some girls that were there merely for entertainment. He had to respect them, admire them even. They put up with a lot more shit than anyone else would. Hell, in a lot of ways they were tougher than he could ever be.

If it helped her to push through her job a little easier looking at someone other than the asshole she was with, then it was alright with him. He returned her smile and adjusted the mirror again so she could see him better. He took off his cap and started to lay it in the seat next it him.

"No, keep the hat on," she suddenly moaned out loud. Apparently it helped with whatever fantasy _she_ was thinking about at the moment.

"What?" her client asked in confusion.

"Uh, I said 'You got it goin' on', baby," she replied quickly.

"Ah, ya know it, bitch," the man said as he continued doing whatever it was he doing.

Mongrel just shook his head and put the cap back on. She grinned at him, her surrogate lover in the mirror, as she continued to entertain her client. He smirked, wondering what else might be going on in the city tonight.

* * *

><p>Papa Pants stared quietly out of the front passenger window of the dark colored Voyage van as Danell, his chief enforcer, slowly eased the vehicle along the road in northern Bavogian Plaza. Papa Pants knew the little girl who had called herself <em>Miss Saint<em> had to have come from this direction the night he and Golden D met her. Maybe she had been seeing a boyfriend or maybe she had come from one of the strip clubs, but she had been on foot. He had hoped he'd be able to find her again.

A rustling behind him hinted that the passengers in the back were getting restless. The loud complaint a second later confirmed it.

"You're wasting the Samedi's time_, pimp_," said one of the gang members sharing the back seat. "You're wasting _my_ time."

Trying to mask his dislike for his traveling companions, Papa Pants flicked on the van's dome-light and turned to face the two Samedi. The speaker was a muscular black man with beady black eyes, short cropped hair, a scruffy goatee and a green skull with white teeth tattooed on his left cheek. His companion, a tall, freckled clean-shaven white guy with short, bright orange hair exploding in all directions nodded in agreement. The former went by the name Micas, the latter by Gennon.

"She's gonna be here," he replied.

"She'd better," Gennon growled. "San-Pierre is starting to doubt your ability to hold up your end of the bargain."

It had only been four days and the minor Samedi lieutenant had already sent these two goons to make sure everything was alright. Papa Pants should never have made that deal; he should have known better.

"It's covered," the pimp began, "Danell's got five of his boys out searching Prawn Court, and my fellow pimp, Two-Tone, and his crew are covering southern Bavogian Plaza. They've all been given copies of the picture of the girl. We'll find her and then she'll lead us to this Artemis you're looking for." He was not as confident as he sounded.

Before either of the Samedi could reply, Danell's cell phone rang. He answered it quickly.

"Lester? Yeah?" Danell paused, then his face lit up. "You're sure it's her? Yeah I know where it's at." He smiled. "Call in Two-Tone; he's closer. We'll be there as soon as we can." He hung up and turned to Papa Pants. "They found her. She's in Prawn Court, heading west. And she's on foot."

"Well, get us there!" Papa Pants ordered, then he turned toward the Samedi with an evil grin. "You see? We'll have her soon."

* * *

><p>Dice continued to her apartment complex, keeping a watchful eye on the dark Anchor. She increased her pace and reached the far edge of the parking lot behind her building. The van picked up speed and turned in her direction. She wasn't sure who they were – rival gang members, undercover police, or worst of all, some twisted rape gang. In any case, she'd had enough of their persistence.<p>

Dice turned, pulling out her NR4 from the small of her back. She aimed at the driver's side of the front window of the van and fired three rounds into it. If they were the police, she'd just say she was scared and felt threatened, not knowing who they were. If they were a rape gang then groups like that were cowards and only attacked when they felt sure their victims were helpless or easily cowed. A girl firing a gun had a good chance of sending such sorry excuses of human existence scurrying off.

The van screeched to a halt and five individuals clambered out, the one exiting the driver's door was clutching his arm in pain. They were armed with handguns and began returning fire.

"Fuck!" Dice cursed her luck as she starting running across the parking lot. For the briefest moment she thought about going into her apartment building; her SKR-9 Threat was upstairs in her bedroom. However, she could become trapped inside, and then there was Mr. Mendergan, the onsite manager. While easy to con, he was honestly very sweet and she didn't want him put in danger.

She ran alongside her building, then past it. She dashed across the next street and onto the parking lot of an _On The Rag_ clothing store. She turned and spotted her pursuers crossing the street behind her. She fired off two more shots, catching one of the armed men in the chest. He fell immediately. The others stopped and started scattering.

She got up to the clothing store, pressing in close, using the building for partial cover. She was deciding whether to make a stand here or try to make it into the short alley behind her, when her attention was suddenly drawn to a vehicle up the road. The street lights reflected off the oncoming vehicle revealing its purple and gold surface. It was some of her fellow Saints.

Dice smiled, leaned forward and started waving to them, hoping to attract their attention. They must have noticed, for the car accelerated suddenly, coming closer. The passenger leaned out of the side and started firing at the men on the street.

Her relief was short lived as a newly arriving minivan hurtled into view behind the purple sedan and plowed into it. The new arrivals leapt from their vehicle led by a pimp dressed in a two-tone green and white outfit. They descended on the stunned occupants of the purple car, firing repeatedly into the vehicle.

"No! No!" Dice cried out as her fellow Saints were murdered before her. "Damn you! Damn you, you fucking assholes!" She fired at the unknown pimp and his hoodlums in anger.

Her original pursuers used the distraction to regroup and began firing at her again. One bullet slammed into the wall right next to her. Mortar and brick exploded outward showering her face. Dice screamed in pain as the bits of rock got into her eyes and mouth momentarily blinding her and burning her throat.

Disoriented and off-balance, Dice stumbled back firing the last of her clip blindly. She tripped backwards over something and her arm slammed hard into a wall knocking her gun from her grasp and losing it in a large pile of trash.

She got to her feet as quickly as possible and heard more gunfire accompanied by screams of anger and yet _another_ vehicle approaching. How many of these fuckers were there? As she pressed forward, her vision began to clear and she ran through the short alley, across an abandoned grass covered lot and into another long alley, the sounds of the pursuers echoing behind her.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry I took so long, Artemis," Chaz said quietly. "Aunt Lola needed help with a few things."<p>

"It's alright, son," Artemis assured him as they drove through the Barrio District. "Dice isn't… let's just say the most prompt person in the world. We should have plenty of time."

Chaz looked around. "There's a, uh, shortcut here if you want to try it."

"Where?"

"Go east along northern Copperton," Chaz directed. "There's an opening under the freeway. It's not, uh, finished, but you can still get through. I walk through it after I get off the bus. It gets me to the loft in the Red Light District quicker."

Artemis followed the directions and finally wound up at the unfinished underpass. "Well, damn, son. Good job. This little bit of knowledge is gonna save us some time."

The tunnel wasn't blacktopped yet, but Artemis managed to ease his Stiletto through it without a problem. Once clear, he began to increase his speed again. As he was about to get back onto a connecting road, he happened to glance over to his right and saw brief flashes of light about a block and a half away that could only come from gunfire.

"Oh shit!" Artemis cried out as he turned sharply to the right.

"What?" Chaz yelped.

"There," Artemis indicated the rapidly moving bursts of light. "That may be in our territory, or the Samedi's. Either way there's a chance some of the Saints could be involved. We need to go check!"

As they got closer, they saw a shot up purple car and the bodies of two people in similar colors. The perpetrators of the crime were even now chasing after another purple-clothed individual who was moving haphazardly down a short alley. The running figure was a short girl who looked a lot like…

"Dice!" Artemis screamed as he hit the gas. Clementine's engine roared and the heavy vehicle surged forth. Chaz held on for dear life.

Gripping the wheel with his right hand, Artemis dug through his pocket and retrieved his cell. He tossed it across to Chaz. "Hit 3 on speed dial. Its Bert's number. Tell him where we're at and to get his butt down here. NOW!"

* * *

><p>Bert was on the lowest level of the Saints' main hideout, aka Club Purgatory. A new bar had been installed and he was drinking a double bourbon on the rocks. He looked around the ever-changing room.<p>

The walls seemed in the process of being painted and to keep the smell from becoming overwhelming, four large floor fans had been brought in. Drake, one of the techno-geeks that deejayed for the Saints sometimes had brought in one of his fog machines and turned it on behind one of the fans. Someone, probably Drake again, had also set up one of those rotating flickering light things in one of the far corners. There was a pounding, heavy bass beat thrumming through the speakers. The result was a shimmering otherworldly experience that lent credence to the whole Purgatory name.

Bert shook his head. Leave it to the gang to hook up the 'club' part of the hideout, before installing a working elevator. But Bert wasn't here for the lights, the smoke, or the noise of the club. He was looking for someone, someone in particular. He gazed out across the small sea of figures dancing and gyrating on the floor, the stairs, or anywhere else there was room. He finally spotted her on the first landing of the double staircase near the broken statue of the angel.

Her name was Tonya. She was about 5'7 but with her silver stilettos she appeared to be as tall as he was. She had skin the color of honeyed-chocolate and soft brown eyes. Her kinky-curly light brown hair was fixed up in some elaborate updo. This combined with the strapless silver party dress she was currently wearing showed off her soft, smooth neck and shoulders. She had a dark brass colored belt synched at her waist, accentuating her firm stomach and full hips.

Bert brushed his hair back and straightened his black suit-coat, which was not only snappy looking but perfectly concealed his T3K Urban SMG. He drained his double shot of liquid courage, set his glass on the bar and strolled confidently across the club.

He touched his breast pocket to reassure himself that the concert tickets were still there. He went over what he was going to say as he approached his beauty. _**I just happen to have these tickets for the Feed Dogs, wanna go? **_That sounded lame. _**Hey, lookee here, Feed Dogs tickets, you like them, right?**_ God no! _**You, me, and these here Feed Dog tickets need to all go out together, whatcha say?**_ Aarg!

Before he knew it, Bert had ascended the steps and was standing in front of Tonya who was laughing with Stella and Molly. She was even more beautiful up close and radiated an enticing smell of cherries and vanilla. She glanced over at him and he did the only thing he could think of - he froze.

"Oh, hey, Bert!" Tonya's sing-song voice called out. "What's up?"

"Uh, nothing." _**No!**_ His mind raged against him.

"Oh, okay," she said with a mixture of confusion and pleasantry. She looked at him, waiting for him to say something else. After a few seconds she started to turn back to Molly and Stella.

"Just tickets," he finally squeaked out.

"I'm sorry, what?" She leaned in to hear him over the pounding noise of the speakers. "You need to speak up."

"For the Feed guys band people concert…" he trailed off. _**Aarg! I hate you!**_ his mind told him.

"The feed wires for the stand need to be connected?" Tonya looked more confused. "I don't know anything about that kinda stuff," she tried to make herself be heard over the music. "I think Drake takes care of that. I don't know where he is, though."

"Tickets," explained Bert quietly.

Tonya looked him in the eyes. "Honey, I can't understand you." She leaned in closer. "You want to go up a little bit? I don't think any of the speakers are connected upstairs."

"Uh, sure?" he answered.

"Girls, I'll talk to you later," she told Molly and Stella. She grabbed her brass and purple clutch off of the base of the statue then turned back to Bert. "C'mon, let's go up."

They ascended another flight to a landing that held a small table where Rico, Corey, Travis and Nugget were playing cards. This area was going to eventually be turned into a Greco-Roman style office for the Boss, or so the rumors said. Tonya led Bert to the hall beyond and turned to face him.

"Okay, what were you saying?" She leaned forward. The noise from the club was reduced, but still loud. "Were you asking about feed wires for the speaker stands? I couldn't hear you."

"Speaker stands?" It was his turn to look confused. "Uh, no, I don't think so."

"Then what were you saying?"

"I was asking about tickets. To the Feed Dogs. You know. The band."

"I don't have any tickets."

Suddenly Bert's cell phone started ringing. _**Son of a bitch! Really? Now? You have to be kidding me!**_

"Excuse me," he apologized then flipped open his phone, "Bad timing, bro. Wait, slow down, Chaz. You're where? Oh shit, hold on! I'll be right there!" He slammed the phone shut.

Tonya noticed the look of concern that crossed his face. "Everything okay, hon?"

"No it's not," Bert replied. "Look, I'm real sorry but I gotta go." He glanced around and spied Rico at the card table. He hurried over to his crew member.

"Rico, let's go!" he ordered. "Artemis needs us!"

"Hey, man, I'm in the middle of a game," Rico replied in an annoyed tone.

"Excuse me?" Bert asked in astonishment as Tonya caught up.

"Man, go find Dennis or Dominic, or someone," Rico waved him off. "I'm up like sixty bucks."

"Oh, okay," Bert said calmly, then turned to Tonya pulling the tickets out of his coat pocket and handing them to her. "Here're some tickets for the Feed Dogs."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh, wow," she said beaming. "I love them!"

"Yeah, I was gonna ask if you wanted to see them with me, but I gotta take care of something." At that he spun back to the table and kicked it over sending chips, cards, and cash flying everywhere. Corey and his crew jumped back stunned and Tonya squeaked a little at his sudden display of violence.

"The fuck's your problem, Bert?" demanded Rico in anger.

Bert grabbed him roughly by the shirt, hauled him out of his chair and slammed him into the wall.

"One of my friends needs my help and you're just gonna blow'em off?" Bert growled as his eyes flashed with anger. "Don't think so, asshole." He leaned in close. "You're done in my crew, you got that, Rick?" He purposely mispronounced Rico's name. "You may just be done with the Saints altogether after tonight."

"You-you don't have the authority to kick me outta the S-Saints," Rico mumbled, struggling in Bert's grip which was surprisingly strong.

"You're right on that account," Bert smiled but there was no mirth in his voice only a dangerous edge. "But see, while I'm wasting time on your punk ass, my friend may be getting shot up. You better pray that he doesn't." At this Bert let go and took a step back as Rico slid to the floor. "Cuz if he does," Bert continued as he pulled out his T3K, clicked off the safety and aimed it at Rico's head, "… then I _**will**_ ventilate your fucking skull!"

Several of the surrounding Saints gasped as Corey stood up. "Bert, calm down, man."

"No time," he replied then he indicated Rico. "Pick that piece of shit up and bring him with you, Corey. Get your crew; we need to go help Artemis, NOW!"

Bert turned back to Tonya and said sheepishly, "I'm, uh, sorry, um, I'll see ya later, okay?" She nodded. He smiled back then broke into a run up the three flights of stairs to the parking lot above.

"Be careful, Bert!" Tonya called after him as Corey helped a stunned Rico off the floor.

Bert cleared the flights of stairs in near record time. He got up to and exited the back of the old mission. Outside were a few of the Saints talking and joking around. He scanned the lot and found the other members of his crew, Dennis and Dominic sharing cigarettes.

Bert trotted over to his crew and in as few words as possible described the situation as Corey, Rico and the rest of Corey's crew came upstairs. Corey and his men got into his Go! while Bert and his crew clambered into Bert's Wellington. The two Saints vehicles were hurtling toward the shootout in Prawn Court less than a minute later.

* * *

><p>Artemis retrieved one of his custom pistols tucked at his side, leaned out the driver's window and opened fire at the large mass of thugs. Even without being an expert shot, it would have been hard <em>not<em> to hit one of them. He caught one in the back that seemed to have already been wounded in the arm. Before that one fell, Artemis unloaded another two rounds into the upper chest of a different thug as Clementine charged forward. The remaining thugs were wise enough to get out of the way.

"Dice!" Artemis called out as the Stiletto barreled toward the short alley. She was already out the alley, across a grassy plot of ground and heading into another alley. She apparently couldn't hear him.

"What'll we do?" Chaz asked in a shaky voice. "There's so many. And-and they all got guns this time."

"Keep it together, son," Artemis tried to reassure his younger companion. He was certain his car wouldn't fit through such a small alley, but at least he would be cut off the people after Dice.

"There's a spare handgun in the glove box, grab it," he ordered as he turned his vehicle cattycorner, trying to block the alley as much as possible.

Chaz popped the glove compartment open and a Vice 9 fell into his lap followed by two clips.

"Load up, son," Artemis told him as he opened his car door, "then go out the other side. Use the car as cover." He stepped out and then realized he should have followed his own advice. There were at least seven enemies still standing. Four were grouped around a green and white clad individual. The remaining two were in full retreat back to the street.

* * *

><p>Papa Pants told Danell to slow the Voyage as the vehicle approached the site of the battle. On the street, the occupants of the van spotted Two-Tone and his crew trading fire with two Saints around a parked Stiletto. Micas suddenly leaned forward.<p>

"That's the car!" the large Samedi yelled. "It belongs to the man named Artemis. Pull up here!"

Danell halted the vehicle.

"Let's go," Micas ordered the other Samedi. Turning to the blue and white clad pimp, he said, "It seems you were right. I will let San-Pierre know of your usefulness." The two Samedi exited the van.

"Where're Lester and his boys?" Papa Pants asked watching the battle play out.

"I don't… wait! There!" declared Danell as he pointed to two figures running their way. It was Lester and Tyrone. The pair of thugs reached the van.

"Where's everyone else?" demanded Papa Pants.

"Dead except for Two-Tone's crew," Lester replied.

"Damn it." The pimp shook his head then asked, "The girl. Where is she?"

The thug pointed to the far alley where the girl had entered.

"C'mon," Papa Pants ordered the thugs.

"What about the Samedi?" asked Danell as his two men got into the van.

The pimp just smiled. "Fuck them, they got their little Saint, now I want mine." The van pulled away from the fight as he directed Danell to drive near the back alley indicated by Lester.

"You three go and flush the girl out," their boss said. "I'll take the van around the far side of the block."

* * *

><p>Bert's Wellington drove southwest followed by Corey's car.<p>

"Chaz said they were near the middle of the Prawn Court," Bert grumbled to Dennis as he sped along. "I'm counting on you to watch the side streets."

"There!" Dennis called out almost immediately as he indicated a small group of individuals off to his right by a side-lot. They were firing in the direction of a familiar looking Stiletto.

"Damn it!" yelled Bert who had to slam on the brakes to prevent the car from over-shooting the side-street. He managed to stop in time and hoped Corey's vehicle wouldn't smash into his.

"It's Two-Tone!" declared Dennis as Bert turned sharply and headed toward the fight.

"What?"

"The pimp over there firing at our guys," Dennis explained. "His name's Two-Tone."

"That guy there?" asked Bert. Dennis nodded. Bert leaned on the accelerator, aiming for the man Dennis pointed out. His target didn't notice until it was too late.

With a loud _**–thwump-**_ and a small splatter of blood, the hostile pimp was crushed under Bert's station wagon.

Looking at the crimson fluid on his hood, Bert dryly remarked, "Huh, I guess the dude's name is _Three-Tone_ now."

...

...

Artemis was aiming at the green and white individual when a large, heavy station wagon barreled into view. The vehicle smashed over the pimp, scattering the collected thugs. A second later a purple Go! pulled up behind the Wellington. Seven of his fellow Saints exited the two vehicles and started blowing away anything that wasn't clad in purple.

Artemis smiled as he heard Bert's familiar voice call out, "Light'em up, Saints!"

"My boy never lets me down," Artemis said quietly, then turned to Chaz. "Wait here for the others. Tell Bert I'm going after Dice." He clambered over the hood of his car and headed towards his absent friend's last known location.

* * *

><p>Dice wasn't sure how many people were still chasing her. She went further into the alley and came to a small enclosed lot behind a retail store. She quickly tried the store's back entrance as well as the delivery door. Both were solidly locked.<p>

"Shit," she cursed quietly. "Fuckers are too untrusting in this damn neighborhood."

She looked for a place to hide, but the lot, while small, was wide open. She continued down her path and came to another cross-alley. She paused to look around but the sound of people running behind her drove her to make a quick decision. She chose left.

She passed a dumpster on her right and ran around the far corner. Her breathing became labored as panic started to set in. She pressed her back up against the wall, getting as close to the corner as possible to peer around and maybe catch a glimpse of her pursuers.

She froze as she heard voices muttering quietly. They seemed to be discussing the situation. A few moments later she heard running again, but this time it grew quieter. It sounded as if they were giving up, or at the very least going the wrong way. The sound faded away.

She strained to hear anything, to make sure they were gone. She'd seen too many horror movies. Just when you thought it was safe – BOOM! – the monster came out and grabbed the cute but perky little blonde girl.

She waited and dared to take a breath. Then she heard a slight clinkering noise as a can was kicked across the ground by someone a couple of alleys away followed by a soft muttering curse. There was still one person not that far behind her, and he was getting closer.

She looked around. There really wasn't anyplace to go. One end of the cross-alley stopped at a large brick building. The other ended at a seven foot wooden fence. She was sure she could climb the fence if given the time, but time was something she didn't have. Her pursuer was going to catch her.

She needed a plan and quick…

...

...

Danell had ordered his two men to go back and check any side alleys for their victim. He'd continue on and try to flush her out.

Danell arrived at the alley he was certain the girl had taken and peered cautiously down it. There was a dumpster on his right and a cross-alley a little further beyond. If this was the alley he thought it was, she may have been trapped.

The girl was small; she was probably hidden behind the dumpster. He slowly approached it, gun raised – ready for her to jump out at any time. As he got closer, a glimmer caught his eye. He glanced to his left and saw a reflection of one of the dim alley lights shining off the front tip of a small-sized tennis shoe _barely_ poking out from behind the back corner of the alley.

He smiled and crouched up against the front of the dumpster then took careful aim at the shoe. Papa Pants wanted the girl alive, but he didn't say anything about her being one hundred percent intact. The shot would just cripple her, making it that much easier to bring her in. He fired off a single round, hitting the tip which sent the _empty_ shoe flying off across the alley.

"The hell?" he muttered in confusion as he slowly stood upright. A high-pitched scream a second later from behind the dumpster made him realize his mistake.

...

...

As she sat tucked away behind the dumpster, Dice heard the man's movements. He was trying to be quiet, but the occasional snap of a shard of glass or crunch of a paper bag gave his position away. Then the movement stopped.

_It won't work. It won't work. Nothing ever works the way I plan it. Artemis' plans always work, but not mine._

She held her breath as she heard him shift position. Did he know where she was?

_Please let him see the empty shoe and think that's me. Please work. Please work._

She jumped as a single round was fired. She saw her right shoe go skittering across the cross-alley.

_Holy fuckballs, it worked! It actually worked!_ Then she paused as an errant thought surfaced. _That shit-fuck bastard just shot up one of my favorite pair of kicks!_

A rather inappropriately timed, but familiar, wave of hot anger washed over her as she pulled out her pink crowbar, Baby, and charged around the dumpster.

"Die!" she cried out, intent on drawing blood.

* * *

><p>Lester and Tyrone were running to find any other entrances to the alley so they could cut off the girl's escape routes. They were just about to reach the sidewalk when a slight movement near a darkened street caused the lead thug to slow down waving the other one back.<p>

"Hold up, Tyrone," Lester mumbled. "Somethin's there." He crouched low and pulled out his pistol as his partner drew a revolver. They made their way slowly along until they got a decent look at the movement. It was a stray plastic bag caught on a chain-link fence, the occasional breeze swishing it about.

"Hah, stupid trash," he muttered. He lowered his weapon and turned to look back at his partner as he started moving again.

He turned forward again just as the pommel of a polished GDHC.50 crashed into his face dropping him to the ground.

The other thug, Tyrone, raised his revolver, but their assailant grabbed him by the right wrist causing his shot to fire wide. He pulled Tyrone forward throwing him off-balance and aimed his own handgun downward. The attacker fired off a single round, blowing a nickel-sized hole in Tyrone's right thigh.

Tyrone screamed in pain and fell down clutching his wound. His revolver slipped from his grip and the man standing above him kicked it away. The assailant then grabbed him by the shirt collar and starting hauling him up.

Before he was lifted more than a half-a-foot up, his partner recovered and tackled their assailant from behind. Tyrone tried to focus, tried to stand, but the pain was too much. He heard scuffling behind him as the two men grappled. He quickly scanned the area as well as he could. He thought he saw his revolver and started inching toward it.

There came a fearful cry followed by the loud report of the pistol.

"Lester?" Tyrone called behind him. Maybe his partner got hold of the gun… Maybe he shot their attacker…

A second later he was again grabbed roughly by the shirt collar and hoisted up. This time no one stopped him as he was dragged painfully to his feet.

"Let's try this again, you piece a' shit," growled the man as he pulled Tyrone close. In the dim glow provided by the street lights he could see a dark wet stain splashed over the man's shirt, neck and even part of his chin. It was blood, presumably Lester's, mixed with a few bits of gore.

"No, man, I'm done," Tyrone pleaded. "Let me go!" Then he paused as he got a good look at his attacker. "Oh, shit," Tyrone said fearfully as he recognized him, "it's you!"

"You think you know me?" the angry man inquired.

"You're that Artemis guy we're looking for. You're with the Saints." Tyrone blinked in fear as he realized the precarious position he was in.

"What are you talking about?" the man named Artemis pulled him close. "Tell me what the hell's going on, or I will end you, son… in a way less quick and a lot more painful than your buddy over there." He indicated Lester's body with a nod.

"We're just supposed to bring you in," Tyrone blathered. "That's all. Papa Pants said just you and the girl, don't need no one else. Need you both alive or no pay out."

"What girl?" The man's dark expression turned deadly. "Are you talking about Dice? ARE YOU?" He straightened the arm holding Tyrone while pulling his gun up. He rested the muzzle on Tyrone's face. "ANSWER ME!"

"I don't know her name!" Tyrone cried. "The little girl with dark blonde hair. She, uh," the thug swallowed uncomfortably. "Papa Pants says she needs to learn her place and earn her room and board as, uh, his b-bitch."

"What?" There was a dangerous edge to his voice. "Where's the girl?"

"It was Papa Pants! I swear! He made some sort of deal with the Samedi!" Tyrone was shaking. "She's trapped in the alleyways. Lester and I were supposed to cut her off. That's all I know, I swear!"

"Then you're no longer useful," he said and pulled his gun back.

Tyrone began shaking his head 'no' and started to say something, but the Saint brought his gun forward smashing the pommel into his face. He staggered and then a second blow dropped him to the ground. Blackness engulfed him.

…

...

Artemis looked at the two thugs and gave serious thought to putting a bullet into the still living one's head. A scream echoing from the long alleyway caught his attention. He wasn't sure, but it sounded like Dice. With a snarl, he charged at a full run into the alley's depths.

Had he thought about, he would have asked more about the pimp's involvement with the Samedi. He would have asked why they wanted _him_. As it was, his only thoughts were about getting to Dice in time. She was his friend, she was his fellow Saint. Most importantly, she was his family. She needed him, and he would murder anyone who got in his way.

* * *

><p>Papa Pants parked the Voyage and got out, heading across the street to where he estimated his men should be. He reached a tall wooden fence and looked around, but saw no one. He was about to call Danell on his cell to find his current location when he heard what sounded like fighting coming from the alley behind the wooden fence.<p>

He glanced around for a quicker, easier way through. Finding none, he shook his head, gripped his cane tightly and clambered over the fence. Upon landing on the other side, he realized he'd scuffed his expensive snake-skin shoes and had torn a hole in his silk shirt. He shook his head angrily. This little bitch was becoming a _very_ irritating problem.

* * *

><p>"Die!" Dice shouted as she charged around the dumpster. Gripping her crowbar with both hands, she used the momentum to smash the heavy weapon full into the chest of her pursuer. Her aim was true.<p>

Danell rebounded off of the dumpster as Dice swung again this time aiming for his face. The connecting blow sent the thug plummeting to the ground. Unseen, his gun flew under the dumpster.

With a malicious grin born of frustration, Dice leapt over her slow moving quarry. She turned and stood above him, her back to the cross-alley a few feet away. She paused but a moment before raising Baby above her head and crashing it down on her opponent's skull.

"Fuck you," _**–thud-**_ "you" _**–thud-**_ "son of a" _**–thud-**_ "bitch-fuck" _**–thud-**_ "asshole!" _**–THUD!**_

Her opponent did not move again. She stopped to catch her breath then slowly remembered that her now-deceased foe had brought a gun. She started rifling around her opponent's body hoping to find it. Such was her concentration on locating the lost weapon that she didn't hear the scraping on the pavement until it was too late.

Just as she realized someone was behind her, a furious blow landed solidly across her lower back stunning her with the pain. She screamed in agony and fell to her knees from the force of the blow; Baby was lost from her grip and skittered out of reach.

"Damn it, bitch!" came a low but strong voice that she recognized. "Your little ass better be worth the cost."

A familiar blue and white clothed figure slowly circled the wounded girl. Dice looked up at her enemy and snarled.

"You?" she gasped through the pain as she slowly eased her right hand to the pocket that held her switchblade.

"Little slut," the angry pimp said, "you broke my pimp cane!" He examined the obvious crack in the blue and white wooden cane.

"Weak-ass little stick for a weak-ass motherfucker," she taunted.

With a growl he swung the cane at her head, catching her near the jaw even though she tried to roll with the blow. She fell face-first but slowly moved up to her knees again. She started chuckling.

"Really? That's it?" she coughed. "I've been fucked harder by a three-inch cock." She grinned up at him as she finally retrieved the switchblade and flicked it open.

He pulled the cane back to strike her again. She used the opening to lunge forward and, in a move that would've made Johnny Gat proud, she buried the blade to the grip through his snakeskin boot into his foot. Papa Pants howled in pain, but recovered enough to bring the cane down on the girl's back once again. The blow was so hard that the top half of the already cracked cane broke off entirely. She fell flat again.

"Fucking slut!" he screamed, swinging the shortened stick repeatedly onto her back as she went into a fetal position trying to protect herself. After nearly a dozen blows, he started kicking her in the stomach with his uninjured foot. She grunted painfully then finally put her arms out.

"S-stop! N-no more!" she cried. "Please! I'll-I'll do whatever you want!"

Papa Pants ceased his relentless assault and hobbled back half a step. The bruised girl looked up at him, tears in her eyes.

"Please," she pleaded quietly, "I can be good." She gazed up at him through her eyelashes, a look of submission on her face. When he didn't immediately strike her again, she slowly eased up to her knees.

"I'll-I'll treat you right," she continued as she balanced on her knees, her shoulders indrawn, cowed. "I understand, and-and I'm-I'm sorry."

His eyes narrowed but he let her continue.

"If you don't hit me anymore," she whispered inching forward, "if-if you'll protect me." She tentatively reached out a hand and gently brushed it against his leg. "If you let me, I'll be good to you." She leaned in close, gently caressing his leg with both hands. "Please."

His mouth curled into a twisted smile.

"I thought the Saints were the most important thing," she cooed, "but now I understand who has the real power…" She laid her face gently against him. She stayed that way for a long moment.

Then the look of submission vanished, only to be replaced with vile anger and hatred.

"And the one with real power sure the fuck ain't _you!_" She leaned back, opened her jaw as wide as she could and slammed her face forward as she pulled him toward her. Her teeth sank into his upper inner thigh close to his crotch. She missed her _intended_ target by less than half an inch.

Papa Pants wailed in torturous pain as the girl's teeth bit deep into his flesh. Had it not been for the inseam of his slacks, her upper and lower teeth might have clicked together she was biting so hard. He dropped what was left of his cane and for a few agonizing moments could do nothing but cry out in pain. Then he gathered enough of his wits to get a hold of the girl's hair with one hand while prying her lower jaw open with the other. Finally, he was able to get her off of him.

"I'll kill you!" she shrieked, twisting like a wild badger as he barely held onto her. "I'll kill you!"

In anger he started punching her in the face as she flayed her arms defensively. Sometimes she was able to block his blows, most of the time she wasn't. Finally, he yanked her up by the hair and wrapped his left hand tightly around her throat choking her as she continued to flail about. He then started punching her again. She screamed defiantly, clawing and kicking at him as much as she was able, but he was too big, too strong.

Bloodied, Dice glared at her enemy with her left eye (her right was starting to swell shut). Her struggles had subsided greatly, but she still growled, "You better… you better kill me, y-you fucker." She spat at him, her blood slapping him in the face. "Because," she gasped as he squeezed tighter, "because… if you-if you don't… then I'll get free… and-and I'll bleed you. I'll bleed you _real _slow."

"God," Papa Pants grimaced, "I am so gonna enjoy breaking you."

"Don't move, you son of a bitch!" came a cry from down the alley.

A young black man was standing about thirty feet away, a gleaming pistol in his hand. Papa Pants pulled the girl in close, using her as a shield.

"A big man like you using such a tiny girl to hide behind," the man said as he slowly moved forward. He shook his head. "There's just so much of you sticking out that I could carve away."

"That's close enough little man," the pimp said. Then he paused as he recognized the newcomer from the photos he'd seen. "So you're the one everybody's looking for? And here I have you."

"Apparently you don't seem to realize that I'm the one with the gun," he said.

"And I have your friend," the pimp retorted. "If you don't want to see her hurt anymore, I suggest you put the gun down."

"Kill him, Artemis," Dice moaned. "Shoot him."

"Quiet you," ordered the pimp as he shook her.

"Stop it!" Artemis called out. "Hurt her again and I will _end_ you."

"Sh-shoot him anyway," Dice groaned.

"I said quiet!" the pimp shook her more violently this time and raised his hand to strike her.

_**BLAM!**_

The bullet tore into the stunned pimp's throat less than an inch below his chin. His face took on a look of shocked disbelief as he released Dice (who promptly slid to the ground). He stumbled and fell on his back clutching at the gushing wound.

"You okay, Lil Sister?" Artemis inquired as he stalked up the alley, his gun pointed at the writhing man in blue and white.

"I told you… d-don' call me th-that," she muttered into the pavement. He smiled humorlessly; she was alright for the moment.

Artemis looked down at the dying man.

"Y-you think.. y-you won… little man?" he gurgled. He smiled as bloody foam oozed out of his mouth. "Th-there're… w-worse people'n… m-me… out th-there." He chuckled weakly.

In a cold, emotionless tone, Artemis replied, "Then if those motherfuckers try hurting _my_ friends…" He paused and aimed his pistol at the man's head. "I'll kill them, too." With that he fired three rounds into his enemy's face.

* * *

><p>Artemis sat quietly with Dice on the alley pavement. She had managed to prop herself up and leaned against one of the buildings.<p>

After a moment, he broke the silence, "You sure you don't want to see a doctor?"

"I'm okay," she mumbled staring off with her left eye – the right was swollen shut.

"Sounds like the shooting finally died down," he noted, facing the direction where the shoot-out had been.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "You think our guys won?" She sniffled some blood.

"We could call… oh shit no we can't," remarked Artemis. "I gave my phone to Chaz. Do you have yours?"

"Do I ever?" she asked then quieter, "I couldn't even have called for help," she muttered as if the thought finally dawned on her. She sniffed again and her left eye started to glisten. A shuddering sob ran through her shoulders and for a second she was a scared young woman who had been brutally attacked in an alley and almost kidnapped or worse.

Artemis put a hand on her knee. "You weren't alone, Lil Sister. You'll never be alone."

"Hey!" came a cry from down the alley. It was Bert. "Anybody there?"

"Down here!" Artemis called back. He turned back to Dice and the scared young woman was gone. In her place was a hardened gang member who fondled one of her shoes angrily - her finger probing a hole where a bullet had gone through.

"'Bout time I found you guys," Bert came around the corner. "Oh Jesus, Dice. Oh man…" He trailed off upon seeing his friend's sorry state.

"God, not you, too," she said waving him off. The motion made her wince.

"Help me with her," Artemis said as he stood. Bert nodded and leaned down to help Dice to her feet. She cried out in pain as they got her up, then she let them slowly lead her out of the alley's depths.

"Yeah we took care of those assholes," Bert continued. "Got us some freaky orange haired Samedi, too. His partner with the skull tattoo got away, but not before wounding Corey and Travis."

"My man," Artemis beamed. "Always there when I need you."

"Shit, you owe me for this," Bert admonished. "I had Tonya eating out of my hand."

"Oh, you finally work the courage up to talk to her?" Artemis asked sarcastically.

"Fuck you," Bert replied. "I'm gonna go make sure the way's clear." He moved off ahead.

After leading Dice for a while, Artemis said, "Ya know, I told you none of this crazy shit tonight."

Dice just looked at him with her one good eye as they slowly eased down the alley. She chuckled then winced at the pain.

"Oh, I hate you, bitch," she said through gritted teeth.

"Bitch?" He looked hurt. "I save you and I get called 'bitch'?"

"Yep. Bitch."

"Asshole," he replied.

"Fuck-nut," she shot back.

"Piece of shit," he grinned.

"Loser," she finished.

They walked a bit, the end of the alley coming into view where Bert and Chaz waited for them.

"Boss?" she finally said.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. Thank you for saving me," she whispered.

"Anytime, Lil Sister. Anytime." This time instead of balking at the nickname, Dice merely grinned and tightened her grip on his arm.

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN: The personality of Papa Pants, one of the main antagonists for this chapter, came to me while listening to the song _'Bet That'_ by Trick Daddy - although it must be noted that I do NOT consider this chapter as a songfic by any means.**

**AUTHOR'S REQUEST: Tried for something different this time. I always liked action scenes from movies where the focus constantly shifted between various characters, such as say 'The Return of the Jedi' ie. shifting from Luke fighting Vader on the Death Star, to Han fighting the Empire on Endor, to Lando and Wedge fighting the Empire in space, back and forth, etc... However, its much harder to successfully present this in the written word. In this chapter I had a lot of OCs running around doing a bunch of stuff, both good guys and bad guys - I hope it was easy to understand.**

**Therefore, if you don't mind, I'd like to know whether or not this chapter was too complicated to follow. Does this chapter flow okay? I have future chapters set up like this and want to know how easily readers will be able to follow what's going on.**

**I don't usually like asking for too much feedback as I'm always concerned I'll get the dreaded 'You Suck!' review, but my readers are important to me.**

**Please note: I'm not looking for minor grammatical or spelling errors - this isn't English 101. Believe me, as soon as I hit that little [ADD CHAPTER] button I spot like four to twenty spelling or grammar mistakes that I missed before uploading the chapter.**

**Anyway, thanks in advance.**


	16. Ep 2: History, Part 8

**A/N This chapter didn't originally exist - the epilogue for Episode 2 (History) was supposed to be published next. However, when rereading Episode 2 I realized that I never went into any of Mongrel/Blake's background. His was originally intended to be presented alongside Dice's because their backgrounds are, in a lot of ways, intertwined. However, I was having issues at the time and sort of deleted all of his stuff to shorten the lengths of those chapters to a more reasonable size.**

**Anyway, I've rambled enough. Here's my latest stuff:**

* * *

><p><strong>Episode 2: History<strong>

**Part 8**

**Mourning Woods Cemetery, Suburbs Expansion District, Stilwater**

**Monday, April 18, 2011, 11:02am**

**...**

Gabrielle Stanlos stood looking at the poster-sized picture of her sister, Constance. The picture, taken from her sister's senior year at high school, showed a young Hispanic girl in her late teens wearing a pretty spring dress. She had a bright smile and eyes full of hope. Gabrielle sighed with sadness. So much potential wasted.

Despite her good upbringing, her sister Constance had gotten involved with the whole gang thing shortly after high school last year. Gabrielle couldn't understand why. Constance wound up with the gang that wore the purple clothes and started dating another gang member named Jackson. Their mother worried about it constantly, but Constance always said it'd be alright, that she'd be fine.

She was wrong and three days ago in Prawn Court, both Jackson and she paid the ultimate price.

A quiet footfall indicated the arrival of another individual. Gabrielle turned and had to look up to see the newcomer's face. He was tall, a few inches over six feet with close-cropped blonde hair. He was handsome with a rugged jaw and he filled out his black shirt and slacks nicely. If it hadn't been such a sad occasion, a girl could get lost in those bright sapphire eyes of his.

After a few seconds, Gabrielle broke the silence.

"You a friend of Connie's? From high school?" she asked.

"I honestly didn't know her," he said politely. "It's a shame, really." He stared hard at the picture as if trying to gauge the type of person her sister had been.

"Are you with somebody?" Gabrielle turned to glance around the parlor. There were perhaps a dozen people all told. She saw her brother, Marcus, by their mother who was talking to a quartet of family friends. Off to the side were some cousins from northern Stilwater. She never liked them - all stand-offish with their 'better than you' attitudes since they lived in a classier neighborhood. Other than that, there was no one else.

"No," the young man said. "I'm alone."

"Then why…" Gabrielle began. Maybe he was part of the funeral staff or maybe he was one of those weird people she read about who just visited families during the wake of a loved one. She turned to face him and it was then that she saw the lapel pin in his collar – a small purple fleur-de-lis.

"Oh," she said quietly, "you're one of them." She glanced around quickly then grabbed his arm. "You better come with me." Had he wanted, Gabrielle was fairly certain he could have easily resisted her attempts to move him. Luckily he did not.

She led the tall stranger past her mother, the family friends, and past Marcus who gave her a surprised look.

"Just getting some fresh air," she mumbled her half-finished excuse as she strode by.

Gabrielle escorted the young man through the funeral home's main corridor and out the front door. She led him about fifteen feet from the building when she finally released his arm and looked up at him, confusion written all over his face.

"You are, aren't you?" she challenged.

"What?"

"One of them," she said looking him straight in the eyes. "One of those Third Avenue Saints people."

"Third Street Saints, actually," he corrected.

She cocked her head, studying him as he patiently stood there.

"You don't look like one of them," she said finally.

His face twisted into a humorless smirk.

"How exactly am I supposed to look?"

"There were some of your kind here earlier, dressed in hoodies and t-shirts and sweatpants," she said with an angry edge to her voice. "They were loud and obnoxious. My brother and the funeral staff got them to leave."

"I'm sorry about that."

"You seem different, though," she admitted. "More respectful."

"Its how I was brought up, I guess," he said with a shrug. "I got lucky in that regard."

"You speak better, too. Not a bunch of 'tears for my fallen homie' and 'sista girl died onna streets' stuff," she said mocking the gang members she'd seen earlier today.

He shrugged again. "I'm not sure what I can say."

"You can tell me why," she demanded.

"Why what?"

"Why my big sister's dead?"

"She was killed by a street pimp named Two-Tone who…"

"I know _who_ killed her! The police told us that!" Gabrielle barked, louder than she had intended. "I mean why? Why'd _she_ have to die? Why not one of your gang friends?" She stepped closer. "Why not _you_?"

He paused for a moment. He started to say something then thought better about it.

"I don't know why," he finally answered and looked out into the distance. "I've been asking myself that for almost three years." His jaw set as he continued to stare out. He nodded slightly and brought his gaze back to her.

"Do you?" he asked her.

"What?" She hadn't been ready for the question.

"Know why I didn't die?"

"Were you there when my sister was…?"

"No," he said shaking his head. "I wasn't."

"Then…" she started but he cut her off.

"I meant… I meant when my family was attacked," he explained with a tilt of his head. "I think I was seventeen at the time. I had left high school for the day. I came home." He paused and a look of pure hatred, darker than any she had seen before in her life, flashed across his face. "And _**they**_ were there."

"Who?" Gabrielle asked.

He took a deep breath and growled, "The Samedi." Then an odd thing happened, something she may not have noticed had she not been looking directly at his eyes. The color of his irises actually _changed_. The brilliant blue slowly faded, became duller and looked almost grey.

"They were trying to make a name for themselves," he continued, "To get… get established is the word, I guess. Established in Stilwater." He paused. "They were terrorizing the neighbors and my mother had come out to see what was going on. I think she was trying to help Mrs. Vickers."

Wherever the young man was at, it wasn't here at the funeral home Gabrielle realized.

"I'd been practicing martial arts; my uncle was teaching me hand-to-hand combat. I thought-I thought I was better than I was." He nodded. "Words were exchanged and I got into a fight with two of the Samedi." He smiled grimly. "I beat'em, too. Rather easily as I recall."

Gabrielle had heard of the Samedi; the Sons of Samedi was their full gang-name. The police mentioned the Samedi as having a possible connection to the murder of her sister.

"Then their leader showed up," he continued. "I don't know what his name is. His real name." He took a deep breath. "The Samedi call him the Jamaican. He's one of the chief enforcers of the General, the man who runs the entire Samedi gang. The Jamaican threatened me, threatened my family for interfering in the Samedi's business."

His face contorted as hatred and a new emotion, maybe fear, warred for dominance.

"I tried. I tried to fight him. The Jamaican. I did. I-I really did." It seemed as if he was not so much making a statement as he was trying to convince himself that it true. "But," his voice grew quieter, meeker. "I never had a chance. He was too quick, too skilled, too…" A haunted look replaced the hatred. "He was too powerful," he finally whispered.

For a moment silence hung heavy in the air, then the young man continued in a subdued voice.

"He beat me. Badly. He broke me. And in the end, he plunged a knife into me." He rubbed a spot just below his ribcage on the right side. "I kind of remember falling and I know my mom was screaming. After that I'm not sure. Sometimes when I think back to that moment I recall voices, most often nothing but blackness."

He blinked and suddenly he was in the present again standing with Gabrielle in front of the funeral home.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "It's actually been a while since I've talked about that."

"Um, it's alright," Gabrielle said, realizing she'd been caught up in his story. "But I guess, uh, it turned out alright for you. I mean, you're here now. Your mom must have been so worried."

The humorless smirk found its way to his lips again.

"I awoke in the hospital three days after the attack." He sighed then took a deep breath. "When I came to, I was informed by the hospital staff that after stabbing me, the Jamaican and the other Samedi took their frustration out on the rest of my family." He swallowed hard and cast his gaze downward.

"Oh no," Gabrielle whispered, fearful of what the young man was going to say.

"My mother was, she, uh, was beaten severely enough that she went into a coma and never woke. Something about damage to her head causing the brain to swell. My little sister, Marie, was found in the house. She was only thirteen."

He locked his gaze with hers. "I caused the fight with the Samedi, I started the trouble, and of my mother, my sister, and me I'm the only one that lived?" His eyes narrowed and Gabrielle could see the self-loathing in them. "So I ask you again, why didn't I die?"

She stood silently. She had no answers for him and he none for her. Her eyes searched his face then wandered to his shirt until the speck of purple caught her gaze.

She wanted to know what would make her sister join the gang. She'd hoped the blonde man she talked to now could give her some clue, some insight into her sister's decision, but his circumstances seemed so much different than Constance's.

Maybe if she understood his decision more, maybe if she understood _him_ more, she'd get an answer. She cleared her throat.

"So, uh, -ahem- , is that… is that why you joined the Saint gang? Revenge?"

He let out a dry, hollow chuckle.

"The Saints? No, they weren't rebuilt at the time. They were gone." He paused in thought. "As for revenge, no. What I said about the Jamaican was true. He _**broke**_ me. I was humbled, beaten. I was _done_. Nothing seemed to matter and everything seemed pointless. I thought about… well, I didn't do it, so I guess it doesn't matter now."

"But you're with them now, right?" she asked. "Something must have happened."

A genuine smile came across his lips, the first she had seen since their brief encounter.

"More like someone," he confessed. "Her name is Dice. Well, not her real name, but, yeah." He took a slow steady breath then continued.

"I first came across her while she was waiting for a ride with a friend of hers named Lucia. She was all of five foot and some change and a hundred pounds and some change and you know what she was doing?"

Gabrielle shook her head.

"She was fighting," he said with a grin. "Fighting four guys who each had fifty plus pounds on her. Apparently these guys jumped her and Lucia for some quick cash, but they picked the wrong girl."

As he talked, Gabrielle noticed his eyes soften, the dull grey faded back to the nothingness it had come from and the brilliant blue shown bright again.

"This… this little girl was giving as good as she got. I mean her friend was helping, too, but Dice was the one screaming at them, jumping on them and trying to trade blow for blow with them." He shook his head again. "By this time I was fully recovered and while the Samedi may have beaten me, I was no coward. I couldn't stand by and let this go. I jumped into the fight and within moments just Dice, Lucia and I were all that were standing."

His smile broadened.

"Her ride finally showed up and as she and Lucia got into the car she turned back to me. She smiled as she looked at me, extended her hand and said, 'You coming or not, hero?'" He chuckled at that. "Me. A hero." He grew quiet but the smile remained at the memory.

"So she was with the Saints?" Gabrielle asked.

"No," he replied. "She ran with an all-girl gang called the Casino Queens. There were only four of them. I had nowhere to really go so they let me hang with them."

"So what happened with the girl? Uh, Dice was it?"

"She was this bright point of life. Where I'd grown sullen, she lived for every moment. She drew me in, made me want to stay. We hung out all the time and for the first time in a while I actually started caring again. She brought me back from my despair and gave me a reason to go on."

He shrugged.

"But the situation grew complicated as life always does. After about a year, the Queens' two senior members, Kat and Spade had a falling out after Kat got pregnant. Then Kat committed suicide and the gang broke up. I, uh, had dated Dice for a while, but things didn't quite work out. Mistakes were made by each of us. We didn't see each other for a while." He grew quiet again.

Gabrielle waited for a moment then finally asked, "Well, then what?"

"Hmm? Oh, uh, after about four months she calls me out of the blue," he said. "She and Lucia had joined a new gang, the Saints, and wanted to know if I'd want to join up with them. I'd fallen hard for her the first time we'd been together. I missed her and wanted to just be close to her again. So I joined up with her gang, with her Saints. And now nine months later, here we are."

"So did you get back together with the girl? I mean you do want to, right?" The man's situation was nothing like that of Constance, but still the story should have a happy ending. It _had_ to have a happy ending. She needed to hear that at least someone was happy in the world, that not everything was bitter and painful.

"No," he muttered but the regret in his voice was very evident. "We've each been with other people since then, but nothing permanent for either of us. There're lots of problems and we talked recently about it. Our friendship is important to us and for its sake, I think we agreed to keep our relationship there for the time being."

She studied him for a moment, her eyes narrowed. Something had been nagging her during his tale. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one hip as she spoke again.

"Are you really a Saint?"

He looked perplexed. "I told you I joined them. I petitioned and was canonized almost nine months ago."

She leaned forward. "But are you really one of them? I mean you don't act like a gang member, don't speak like them. Even though you have their symbol on your collar, it's not the predominant color that you wear. You pretty much joined them only for your friend, and even then you said you joined _her_ gang, _her_ Saints. You may be with the gang, but you don't seem part _of_ them."

He threw his head back and laughed at the comment.

"I didn't think it was funny," she said tersely.

"It's not," he said and locked his eyes on her again. This time, however, his gaze was different. Any hint of friendliness or kindness was gone. There was nothing but raw determination. "I'm nobody really. I get that. But," at this he took a step forward, menace in his voice. "… if it were up to me, the gangs would all be dead. The Samedi, the Ronin, even… even the Saints." She half expected his eyes to change color again but they retained their blue brilliance as he continued.

"The gangs took my family; they took a member of yours. They steal, run drugs, burn down neighborhoods and they murder," he growled. "Who do they think they are? I hate them. I hate them all."

He inhaled sharply and seemed to calm down as he backed away again.

"I only joined the Saints for Dice's sake. I've become friends with some of them since then. But I've-I've done things, evil things, because of them."

He sighed.

"You're wrong, though," he said with a hint of hopelessness. "I am a part of them. I hate the gang and yet I'm with them. I'm a messed up kind of amalgam. I'm a…" He paused and then the humorless smirk returned once more. "I'm really nothing more than a _**mongrel**_."

* * *

><p>Marcus Stanlos had been with his mother as she greeted and talked with family friends. He was being dutiful, there at her side whenever she needed him. However, his sister had left the parlor nearly forty minutes ago with the tall blonde stranger and now he was getting worried.<p>

He excused himself and went to go look for her. He searched the main hallway and finally spotted her through one of the large front windows of the funeral home. She was standing by a tree about fifteen feet from the front of the building. He exited the main doors and caught up to her as she was watching the tall stranger walk away.

"Who was that?" Marcus asked. "One of Connie's friends? I don't recognize him."

"No, his name is Blake. He's one of the Saints."

"WHAT?" Marcus yelled. "How dare he come here? How dare any of them come here?" He started forward, his fists clenched, but Gabrielle grabbed his arm.

"Leave him alone, Marcus, please," she pleaded. "I doubt there's anything you could do to him that hasn't been done already."

Marcus looked at her. "What did he say to you?"

She looked speculative. "A lot of things actually. I think he just needed someone to talk to as much as I needed to get my mind off this weekend."

"What did he want?"

"To thank Constance."

"What?" Marcus asked with surprise.

"He didn't know her personally, but right before he left, he finally told me his name and the real reason he came here today." Her eyes began to glisten. "Constance was a hero to him and he wanted to offer his thanks to her. The night she died… she, um…" Gabrielle swallowed hard. "A friend of his was in trouble. A girl. Someone he loves very much. She was being chased by these people and then Constance and Jackson pulled up in their car and gave her time to get away."

She smiled and looked up at her older brother.

"You hear that? Our sister was a hero. Even though she was in a gang and everything, she still saved someone. With her last act, she did something good." Gabrielle finally started crying. "Doesn't that make it all right then?"

"I guess it does," Marcus replied, reaching over and pulling his sister close. "I guess it does."

* * *

><p>"<em>Life expects something of you, and it is up to every individual to discover what it should be."<em>

– Victor Frankel

* * *

><p><strong>More AN: While the final version of this chapter is less than 3,600 words, it should be noted that all told I had actually written well over 19,000 words for this chapter. This is the chapter's fourth incarnation which is NOTHING like any of the other ones. I hated everything I wrote previously and finally just said screw it and typed this up.**

**It was like giving birth to an elephant while having a hernia as I was simultaneously having a root channel. It was THAT annoying.**


	17. Ep 2: History, Epilogue

**A/N: 'Where you at?' a friend PM'd me a couple weeks back, then a few days later while we went out to lunch, she asked what I had planned next for Dice, Artemis and the rest of the gang. I told her I'd just posted a chapter not too long ago, when she politely replied that the last time I'd written anything was in early April and told me to get my butt back up there and start writing again.**

**Mmm, yeah. Sorry 'bout that. Life got in the way for a little bit and I hadn't realized that its been nearly A MONTH since I posted anything. Again, I apologize.**

**So here it is: the epilogue to 'History'. My schedule is getting a little more relaxed in the coming weeks so (hopefully) I'll be able to post more stuff.**

**Thank you for your patience.**

* * *

><p><strong>Episode 2: History<strong>

**Epilogue**

* * *

><p><strong>Bavogian Plaza, Red Light District, Stilwater<strong>

**Club Koi**

**Wednesday, April 20, 2011, 9:49pm**

* * *

><p>Artemis stood with Darcy on the second floor watching the people gathered down below. It was Dice's twenty-first birthday and a group of maybe two dozen of the Saints had gathered. He knew most of them.<p>

Corey and his crew, Travis and Nugget, were sitting at the bar near the dance floor, their preferred spot. _You can get your drinks quicker that way_ Corey always said. They had come to Bert's aid last Friday when he went to help Artemis at the shoot-out at Prawn Court, so of course he had made it a point to invite them to the party. Corey and Travis had both been injured in the process, and they were playing up their 'wounded hero' status to some of the girls at the bar.

Next to them were Molly and Stella, the two ultimate party girls of the Saints. If there was fun to be had, or a party going on, those two were there. He didn't recognize any of the other three girls with them surrounding the 'heroes'.

Dennis and Dominic from Bert's crew sat at a table off to the side smoking cigarettes. With them was Chaz from his own crew drinking a cola. He was listening intently to something Dennis was saying and nodding his head every once in a while. Artemis noticed that Rico was not with them. According to Bert, he had Rico kicked off of his crew last week and almost shot him for something. Artemis doubted he would see much of Rico anymore.

Bert himself was off to the left of the central dance floor speaking in an agitated manner to Spade. He made a motion with one hand and pushed it quickly into the other mimicking some large object plowing into or crashing into another. With the other hand he made an explosive motion as if whatever the first hand plowed into was smashed or knocked away. He was most likely describing, _yet again_, how he ran over the pimp known as Two-Tone. Spade nodded and tried to seem interested while sipping on her drink.

As Artemis finished the last of his soda, his attention was caught by the arrival of Mongrel.

Mongrel had been devastated to learn that Dice had been attacked last Friday while he was off doing an escort job. He'd hovered around the tiny girl most of the weekend like a worried mother hen, making sure she was alright. The only times he left her side were when he attended the funerals of Jackson and Constance, the two Saints that had died the night that Dice was attacked, and when he went to pick up her birthday present from _On Thin Ice_. He wrangled a promise from Spade for her to stay over at Dice's apartment until she healed up despite Dice's protests that she was okay.

"I've been waiting for this," Artemis said suddenly. Darcy looked up at him as he indicated below.

Darcy followed his gaze to the middle of the purple storm. In the 'eye' was a single table. Dice sat with Lucia and her beau, a young dark-haired guy. Jeremy, was that his name? Mongrel was pulling over a chair as Dice looked excitedly at a small black and silver box he had just given her.

Artemis couldn't make out what the tall Saint was saying over the loud din of the speakers, but the short blonde girl was nodding and smiling enthusiastically.

"WHAT?" Darcy exclaimed as she leaned forward. "Is-is he proposing to her?"

"Naw, nothing like that," Artemis quickly replied. "It's a pair of earrings."

Dice quickly pulled out the contents of the box, holding one of the large silver earrings up to her left ear as she said something to Lucia. Lucia smiled, nodded, and gave her a quick thumbs up.

Mongrel was explaining something as he took the other earring and did something with the hook at the end. After a moment he handed the silver piece of jewelry back to Dice. The girl's smile broadened even more as she began shaking the earring in her hand then rolled it on the table like a die.

"The heck?" was all Darcy could utter.

"It's kind of a neat idea," Artemis admitted.

"Oh my god!" Dice yelled excitedly, loud enough that Artemis could hear her clearly even on the second floor. "That's so fucking cool! I love it!" She threw her arms around Mongrel's neck and hugged him tightly. The tall Saint reciprocated.

"Damn, my boy knows his girl," Artemis muttered with a grin.

After a long moment, Dice and Mongrel relaxed their hold and leaned back. A look passed between them - a silent conversation that only the two of them seemed to understand, although Artemis could make an educated guess at it. They smiled at each other as Mongrel gently brushed some of Dice's hair away from her face. Then, after a moment, the look faded and the two Saints pulled apart. Artemis just shook his head.

A sharp trilling drew him from his musings. Darcy looked over as he glanced at his cell.

**Incoming Call:**

**Pierce**

"Hey, baby, I gotta take this," Artemis mumbled. "Get me another soda."

He absent-mindedly held his glass out to her. The trilling noise sounded again as he waited for Darcy to take the empty glass. When she didn't, he looked up to see her staring at him with a hand on her hip and an eyebrow cocked.

"Uh, please?" he asked sheepishly.

She sighed as she took his glass.

"Thanks baby," he said as she went down the stairs. He flipped open his phone as he watched her go. "I love you!" he called after her as she waved him off.

"_Excuse me?" _came Pierce's voice over the phone.

"What? Hello?"

"_You love me?"_

"What? No! Pierce?"

"_Yeah, it's me, but, uh, I'm not inta that. Sorry ta disappoint you."_

"No," Artemis began rubbing his temple, "I was talking to… Never mind, boss, what can I do for you?"

"_Alright, look, I went and got some leads on this situation of yours. With the pimps from the Red Light District."_

"Okay."

"_The two you had trouble with, Papa Pants and Two-Tone, seem to have been making a name for themselves. They were up-and-comers and were bringing in a lotta cash until recently."_

"Until recently?" Artemis asked. "What happened recently?"

"_We did."_

"Sorry?"

"_The Saints arrived. The Red Light District was mainly in the hands of the Samedi, with the exception of the Ronin-controlled Rebadeaux Neighborhood. We, well the Boss and Gat anyway, took control of Old Stilwater which was used by some hobos. They were likely repeat customers of the Samedi." _

"Okay."

"_Yeah, I'm thinking that didn't sit too well with the Samedi. And then we go and take Bavogian Plaza, another Samedi territory. Now instead of just two gangs in the area, ya got three. As with most criminals, us included, the pimps didn't want to see the status quo upset. Y'know it has a tendency to bring in the cops and such. But with our Boss, well, the status quo gettin' upset is pretty much a given."_

"I don't understand. That thug, Tyrone, I think was his name? Anyway, he mentioned that Papa Pants wanted Dice and me for something."

"_I wouldn't over-think anything, man. You and your crew did good." _

"So, what? This was just a hit?"

"_Yeah, that's what I'm guessing. I spoke to Gat. He and the Boss lady are gonna pay a visit to the Shanty Town that's sprung up under Stilwater Caverns. Apparently the hobos from Old Stilwater relocated there and are making some noise about getting revenge and shit for what the Boss and Gat did to clear them out from under the mission. I don't think they'll be a problem after tomorrow."_

"What about the pimps? They may still be involved, or at least know something."

"_Yeah. That's going to be taken care of. Golden D has gone into hiding, but I think he'll be found soon enough."_

"Do you need my help? The crew maybe?"

"_Nope, I ain't handlin' it. The Boss made a phone call Saturday, the day after this shit went down with you and your crew. She's bringing in one of the old crew from 2006, from the original Saints."_ Pierce paused. _"She called in Dyson."_

A chill ran up Artemis' spine as he heard the name. Dyson. He knew the man all too well, both by his gang name, Dyson, and the street name he earned before joining the Saints in '06, Mr. Kind.

Dyson was the moniker of the Third Street Saints' cleaner, taken as a pun of the similarly named portable vacuum, because he cleaned up the messes made by the Saints. Whereas Johnny Gat and the Boss could defeat just about anybody, truth be told, they were at their core just really powerful thugs; they just beat on things until they quit moving. Dyson, however, was a killer. He was skilled at murder, and the Boss lady had just unleashed him on the pimps of southern Stilwater.

"This shit just got real, didn't it, Pierce?" Artemis asked in a hushed tone.

"_Like I said, man, don't over-think it. Relax a bit with your crew. Have some fun. There'll be plenty of time later to worry about things."_

"Yeah, okay."

"_I gotta go, man. Talk to ya soon."_

"Alright." Artemis heard the phone click, but stood frozen for a moment. The big guns were being pulled out now. The Boss lady, Gat, and now Dyson. The small time shit was done with. War, gang war, was about to be declared. Things were going to start getting really…

"Bert says it's time for the 'real McCoy' to join him downstairs."

Artemis shifted his gaze to see Darcy standing next to him holding out his soda; he was so wrapped up in his own thoughts he didn't notice she'd come back until now.

"Uh, what?"

Darcy noticed his lost look.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked, concern written across her features. "What's wrong, William?"

He sighed, "Just realization. That's all."

"What? I don't…" She looked perplexed. "I don't understand, hon."

He smiled. "That's good, then. No need to worry about shit we have no control over." He grabbed his soda and took a quick drink as he put away his cell. His hand now free, he wrapped his arm around Darcy's waist and pulled her close. Looking at her, he said quietly, "You know I love you, right?"

She narrowed her eyes as she inquired, "Is there something you think I'm going to be upset about? Was it the phone call?"

"No, nothing you'll be upset with," he said with a shake of his head. "I'm just tired of the whole Dark Avenger thing." He sighed deeply. "I'm tired of watchin' over everyone. At least for tonight. I think I want to have some fun, too." He pulled her closer and kissed her. After a moment, he pulled back. "C'mon, let's go join the others."

…

...

"Alright, I don't see it," complained Bert as he scanned through the list of songs on Club Koi's jukebox. He was on 'P' and still hadn't found the song he was looking for. "Two hundred and sixty friggin' songs and you'd think they'd put'em in order of song title or by the artist's name. But no. See that'd make too much damn sense."

"Let's ask one of the workers," replied Spade as she glanced over at the bar. "Hey!" she called out to one of the girls tending bar who promptly looked up. "Ya got anything by Jimmy Crock?"

"It's Croce, Jim Croce," corrected Bert, "not Crock."

"Guy was before my time, Big B," answered Spade.

"Shit, you're older'n me and I still like him," Bert defended. "Croce is classic."

"Croce is under Oldies!" the bartender called out. "That's letter 'W'!"

"Oh yeah, duh!" Bert said sarcastically as he rolled his eyes. "Why didn't I think of that? Cuz ya know 'W' always means Oldies." He pressed 'W' on the machine bringing up a new page. He found the desired song and entered '8' as he deposited his three tokens.

"Buck and a half ta listen to one song from the seventies," he griped. "That's crap."

"And you have to buy their tokens for the machines," Spade agreed.

"Yet, _we're_ the criminals," finished Bert.

"Alright, there's two songs before ours," Spade said. "Let's get the others."

They approached the bar just as Darcy was ordering a pair of drinks – a Goldschlager for her and another soda for Artemis.

"Tell Mr. William Brown that Bert requests the presence of _Slim_, the 'real' McCoy," he told her. Darcy smiled.

"He just got a phone call," she said with a sigh despite her smile. "Probably Pierce."

"Man, screw that, work can wait," Bert said with a grimace. "All work and no play pisses off Bert and the rest of the gang. Artemis needs to focus on the priorities."

"Like his responsibilities?" inquired Darcy.

"We're fucking gangbangers!" Bert yelled. "I mean really? If I wanted a boss to harp on me about this or that, I would've gotten, ya know, a _real_ job. It's time for us to have fun now."

A new song started up.

"Okay, go get him," Bert said. "We all need to be on the dance floor after this one's done."

Darcy headed up to get Artemis as Bert went to Dice's table.

"Dance time!" he announced to Dice, Mongrel and the others.

"Bert, no," remarked Dice. She held a hand up to her side. "I'm still kinda sore from…" She paused and looked down. "Ya know, the other day." Her voice trailed off as a shadow memory of her fight last Friday with Papa Pants resurfaced.

"Bullshit, and I don't care," Bert stated flatly. "I _will_ get this party going. By myself it seems. Even if I have to kill you all to do it." He looked over at Mongrel. "C'mon man, a little help?" he pleaded.

Mongrel paused a moment then stood up.

"Help me with the table," he said.

"Alright then!" Bert exclaimed with a smile. "Now we're talking!"

Bert grabbed hold of one end and pulled backwards as Mongrel pushed the other end forward.

"Guys, seriously," Dice started, a frown surfacing on her face, "I'm really not in the mood to… YEEP!" The last was exclaimed as Mongrel quickly but gently reached under her and scooped her out of her chair, one arm under her legs and the other cradling her torso. She instinctively reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Ya got her?" Bert inquired.

"Yeah, she's light," Mongrel admitted as he adjusted his grip. "Besides," he continued, "I'd never let her go."

Bert was about to make some crack about how vomit-inducingly sweet Mongrel's last statement was when Darcy finally showed up with Artemis in tow.

"Bout friggin' time!"

"Yeah, sorry," Artemis remarked glumly, "Pierce was just, I don't know, letting me in on some stuff." He looked around. "Uh, what're we doing?"

"Dancing!" Bert announced happily. "All of us. This is a party, right? Time to dance." He moved onto the floor as a funk beat was still playing over the speakers. He got close to the center of the floor and started… doing something that involved moving his hips and torso… repeatedly… in an odd pattern…

Darcy and Spade blinked as they watched him then looked at each other for a moment. Spade went to say something, but Darcy cut her off.

"I'm with William," Darcy said grabbing Artemis' hand and pulling him after her.

Spade glanced sideways at Dice who was being carried onto the floor by Mongrel.

"Sorry," Dice said, "he's too strong and I'm hurt still." She feigned helplessness with a sigh. "I guess he's stuck with me."

Spade turned to look at Jeremy still seated at the table.

"Nuh uh, girl," Lucia cried out as she stood and grabbed his arm. "Find your own boy." She pulled her guy onto the dance floor, leaving Spade to sigh and accept her fate.

She downed her drink quickly, steeled herself, then walked onto the dance floor close by, but not necessarily next to, Bert.

"C'mon, let's go!" Bert shouted as he shook his body in exaggerated motions. "Oh yeah! Ooont ooo!" The occasional grunt slipped from him as he continued on.

The song ended and Jim Croce's _You Don't Mess Around with Jim_ started playing. Artemis smiled and then started laughing.

"Hah! Leave it to my boy to make me smile!" he said cheerfully.

"Damn straight!" Bert replied. His gyrations had lessened, but he was still dancing, kind of.

…

Despite his earlier concerns over the conversation with Pierce, Artemis had to grin. Bert had that effect on people. He was also one of the few people that knew why his dad, Pops, had chosen the name William for his son.

Pops' real name was Leonard Brown. In the army, however, he earned the nickname 'Leroy Brown' from his squad – as in Croce's _Bad, Bad Leroy Brown_ – baddest man in the whole damn town, because he was tough and because the song was one of his favorites. Technically, the character of Leroy Brown was a bad guy in the song, and Pops, well, Pops always wanted to be the hero.

When he learned mom and he were going to have a child, they decided that if the child was a boy to name him William. Mom liked the name, but Pops had his own reasons. He wanted his son named after Willie McCoy, whose nickname is Slim, the hero (of sorts) in _You Don't Mess Around with Jim_. Like the character, Pops didn't want his son to let others push him around and take what was his. He wanted his son to stand up and put the bad guys in their place.

Things didn't work out quite like Pops had wanted, though. He never saw his son grow up, become the man that he wanted him to be.

Artemis thought about that. _Was he?_

As Darcy and his friends danced around him, a look of gloom slowly crept across his face. Was he really the type of man, the hero, his father had hoped for? Doubt started to surface, but before it could take hold, something interrupted his thoughts. A loud, boisterous something named Bert.

"Nope!"

Artemis blinked and looked around at Bert. "Nope what?"

"Whatever boring-ass dreary thoughts you're thinking," his friend replied. "I like you dude, but seriously, the mopey look has gotta go! I worked my butt off to get this thing set up and I'll not have you ruin it."

"Uh, excuse me?" Artemis' eyes narrowed as he spoke. "Who set this shit up?"

"What, you're taking credit for this?" Bert asked as he continued his spastic dance moves.

"_I_ put this thing together," Artemis retorted, "as usual."

"Damn straight!" Bert replied back. "Don't you forget it, either."

"Then what?" Artemis asked as Darcy danced about him.

"You always set shit up," Bert explained. "You always take care of things. That's your job."

With a perplexed look, Artemis said, "I don't follow you."

"You always worry that you're not doing everything you can," Bert said. "That you'll let everybody down."

Artemis looked surprised. That's exactly what he had been thinking, and somehow Bert knew it. "How…?" he began.

"Dude, that's what you always think! Who's the guy that cleared out Taibot and his thugs in Shivington? Who took down Papa Pants? Who rescued Dice? You, buddy, that's who. And you know why, _Slim_? Because…" Bert paused in his dancing and waited for the final refrain of the song. As it started he sang along:

"_You don't tug on Superman's cape,_

"_You don't spit into the wind,_

"_You don't pull the mask off the ol' Lone Ranger,_

"_And you don't mess around with Slim…"_

Bert stopped and did a quick, but unskilled 420 degree spin all of a sudden nearly knocking over Mongrel who still held Dice and causing Lucia and Jeremy to back away. "Whoa! I did it!" he exclaimed.

"Um, not so much!" yelled Dice as she held onto Mongrel for dear life.

As the song ended, Bert looked at Artemis. "You do a good job watching out for us. You always have, man." He shrugged. "Besides, there's nothing to worry about tonight. It's Wednesday."

"Okay, you completely lost me there," Artemis said. "What does Wednesday have to do with anything?"

"Really? I gotta spell it out for you?" Bert asked as Artemis and he started leaving the dance floor. Another song started up as the rest of the Saints continued to dance. "Nobody does anything on Wednesday nights. That's why the fancy restaurants have their meal-deals and the movie theatres have their special ticket pricing and free popcorn on Wednesdays." He shrugged again. "I mean really, the bad guys aren't gonna strike tonight."

Artemis laughed hard at his friend's messed-up logic. "I love you, man. I really do." He clapped a hand on Bert's shoulder as he shook his head. He looked on as Dice laughed as she was being carried by Mongrel through another song. Darcy and Spade, having lost their dance partners, were now dancing with each other, which was _**very**_ interesting to watch. Even little Lucia was out having a good time with her guy. Bert seemed to be right; everyone _was_ having fun.

"But," Artemis looked serious. "Don't ever call me Slim, okay?"

"Meh, I can live with that," Bert said with a wink.

Artemis laughed again. "Don't ever change, man. You're too important to me the way you are."

"Don't intend to," Bert admitted. "But you do just need to relax. Even the bad guys take a day off, right?"

* * *

><p><strong>Mission Beach, Saint's Row District, Stilwater<strong>

**Wednesday, April 20, 2011, 11:53pm**

…

"Man, don't you guys ever take a day off?" asked Big Fizzy of the dark orange and black clad security members with him in the back of the Status Quo. They didn't respond, but Big Fizzy hadn't expected them to.

The black stretch limo glided silently through the streets heading toward the steel and glass monstrosity known as the Philips Building. It drove through the underpass located beneath the building itself and came to the closed entrance of the underground garage of the Philips Building where another of the dark orange and black clothed security team waited.

_Security team, my ass._ Big Fizzy smiled tersely. _More like a damn private army._

Over their orange fatigues each of them wore military grade ballistic vests upon which were printed the letters: ULTOR in bright white. Their faces were covered with only their eyes visible through the hardened faceplates attached under the reinforced helmets. The two that sat in the back of the vehicle with him carried police issue Tombstone shotguns, while the one guarding the garage entrance was armed with an assault rifle.

The limo's driver said something to the outside guard who nodded and entered a code into the panel next to the garage door. With a mechanical grinding noise, the garage door slowly rolled upwards, allowing the limo to enter. The interior tollgate was already raised and the vehicle went into the underground facility's inner depths.

The vehicle slowed and the guards in the back exited, one on either side. The one to Big Fizzy's left indicated he should follow. He did so just as three individuals walked toward the parked vehicle from the garage's darkened interior. The rear two were more of the same security force he had seen before, each one flanking the lead figure – a well-built black man of average height.

"Way to make a guest feel a bit nervous, eh, brother?" Big Fizzy's gravelly voice echoed in the concrete tomb.

The middle individual said nothing, merely pulling out a tablet computer. He touched the screen a few times, then turned it around and held it so that Big Fizzy could see the screen clearly. A real-time image appeared of a large business office, the window behind it showing an impressive view of the Saint's Row District. By the angle of the view, the office was most likely in the building above him, WAY above him. A man stepped into view and sat at the desk. He was in his early thirties with spiked dirty blonde hair cut in a feathered executive style and dressed in a stylish grey, striped suit with an orange tie and an Ultor pin attached to the collar of his jacket.

He knew the man all too well. His name was Dane Vogel.

"Mr. Fizzy," Vogel said appreciatively. "It's so good to see you. I want to apologize for the late hour. I hope Mr. Jackson and his employees have treated you well?" He indicated the man holding the tablet and his guards.

"It's all good, brother, ya know?" the pimp replied trying to mask his concern. "Is there something wrong? I mean it's kinda unusual circumstances to say the least. Us meeting like this, that is."

"Mmm, yes," the Ultor executive agreed. "I can see your point. Honestly, I merely wanted to bring us up-to-speed on the progress you've been making in the Red Light and Projects Districts." He paused a moment. "So how _is_ our little plan going?"

"Uh, yeah, about that," Big Fizzy began nervously. He licked his lips before continuing, "The plan didn't work out so well. The boys I tried to get, the pimps I tried to recruit... Yeah, they kinda got themselves shot up, uh, heh."

"I see."

"But-but don't you worry none," the pimp's deep voice rumbled. "I got a new plan that…"

"Won't be necessary," the corporate CEO finished the pimp's statement for him.

"Uh, what?" The large man didn't comprehend.

"The match has been struck and the fuse has been lit," Vogel explained. "Your direct interference will no longer be needed."

"Now wait a damn minute!" the pimp yelled as he quickly drew a pistol out from his jacket. "No one tries to cut Big Fizzy outta the picture!"

In response the man holding the tablet shifted and fast drew a laser-scoped machine pistol while maintaining his grip on the screen as the four armored guards aimed their shotguns at the pimp.

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen, please!" Vogel called from the screen. "There's no need for this to escalate, I assure you."

"You tell your boys that then, brother," the large pimp growled.

"Security, stand down!" the man on the screen ordered. The dark orange clothed security slowly lowered their guns. "Mr. Jackson, stand down!" he commanded the man with the machine pistol. "Dexter, that's enough." The man holding the tablet gave a wry smirk and slowly aimed the red dot away from the pimp's forehead where it had been hovering.

"Al-alright then," Big Fizzy finally said. "We don't need ta get all worked up here now." He relaxed his aim as well.

"I believe you misunderstood me, Mr. Fizzy; I have no plans to betray you," Vogel went on. "I've seen the media stories. I've read the police reports. The Sons of Samedi and the Third Street Saints are more than likely headed toward conflict. This is fine. They will take care of each other."

"So, you're happy with this?" The large man seemed confused.

"Oh, yes. Shivington is in flames and there's bloodshed throughout the Red Light Neighborhoods. It'll be only a matter of time before I can convince Monica Hughes to greenlight the project I have planned." Vogel smiled at the last statement. "The board will be very happy."

"I'm not so sure I like you telling me all this," the colorfully dressed pimp admitted. "I don't really want to be one of those 'unnecessary loose-ends,' ya know brother?"

"I assure you, Mr. Fizzy, that there will always be a necessity for you and your line of business," Vogel said. "You needn't worry."

"But you're cleaning up the gangs, and crime," he trailed off.

"Yes, but no matter how powerful a corporation - any business really – becomes there is always need for the type of services you and your associates provide." Vogel paused then smirked. "The oldest profession in the world will still be a necessary form of commerce in Stilwater no matter who's in charge. Boys will be boys, as the saying goes."

At the moment, Big Fizzy wasn't that certain of the stability of his benefactor, but decided not to push the situation.

"So we're good, then?" he asked just to be sure.

"Oh yes, Mr. Fizzy," Vogel was all smiles again. "I look forward to a long business relationship with you. After all," he grinned. "I'm your number one fan."

* * *

><p><strong>Dum Dum Dum Duuummmm... again.<strong>

**Anyway, nothing much in this chapter - mostly tying up storylines. The next chapter is more 'fluff-ish' I guess. But then things will pick up after that.**

**Again, thank you all for reading my stuff.**


	18. Interlude 1: Joking Around

**A/N:**

**I own nothing but my original ideas and OCs.**

**Thanks to fellow FF writer **_**High Mage Lady Hawkmoon**_** who beta-read this, and for helping with the description for Dyson/Mr Kind. I appreciate it.**

**Also, for the Saint named Stammer I had a young, late twenties-ish Michael Clarke Duncan in mind.**

**This is a new type of chapter I'm trying: an Interlude. Sort of a micro-episode/one-shot smack in between the full-length episodes. The set-up is a tad different, so we'll see how it goes.**

**WARNING: Rated M for adult situations/violence/language. Also there are some rather crude jokes (and plain ol' stupid ones) in the latter half of this chapter (hence the title). It is not my intention for anyone to feel offended, so read no further if you think you might be.**

* * *

><p><span><strong>Interlude #1<strong>**: JOKING AROUND**

**Featuring****: The Third Street Saints**

* * *

><p><strong>Bavogian Plaza, Red Light District, Stilwater<strong>

**Saturday, April 30, 2011, 10:19am**

**...**

Dice was stifling a yawn in the front passenger seat as Spade drove her silver and black tricked out Hammerhead onto the lot behind Club Purgatory. She looked over and noticed some delivery people unloading heavy spools of thick cable next to what were supposed to be the elevator doors.

"Nuh uh," she remarked as she sat upright. "They're finally doing something about it."

It appeared, at least, as if the working elevator rumor might indeed be true. Of course, that would mean actually hiring engineers to install it. She didn't know much about that sort of thing, but she was sure there was other stuff that needed to be done. Would a gang like the Saints actually have safety inspectors come and check out a working elevator? What'd be the weight limit, and would they actually post it?

Ugh! All the useless questions and speculations made her head hurt. It was too early to be thinking about anything really. It should be a recognized law that thinking shouldn't be done before noon. Of course, the Third Street Saints didn't exactly follow the law anyway.

Spade parked her car and got out followed by Dice, Mongrel, and Chaz. The four friends entered the abandoned mission and reached the top of the first set of stairs leading down to their hideout.

"Uuuh, carry me," Dice moaned weakly as she leaned up against Mongrel. She uttered a long sigh and put a limp wrist to her forehead in an overly dramatic gesture as if she were going to faint.

Ever since her birthday party at Club Koi when Mongrel held her and carried her during some of the dances her new favorite saying was 'Carry me'. She used it whenever she didn't want to do something, such as walk down a whole bunch of steps.

"You'd probably donk your head on the low ceiling on the way down if I carried you," Mongrel explained, "so, no." He descended the stairs.

Dice grimaced as she stood at the top, hands on her hips. "Fine. Whatever." Then in a lower voice, "Hope I don't pass out midway down and fall the rest of the way."

"Oh, we'd catch you then," muttered Spade brushing past her as she followed Mongrel. "Besides, you said you were doing better. That's why you told me not to stay over at your place anymore."

"No," Dice called after her as she finally started down. "See, I didn't want to have to keep feeding you. You eat like a horse."

"That's cuz I gots muscles I gotta feed," Spade said reaching the first landing. She flexed both of her well-shaped arms. "Look at these cannons! Boom! Boom!" She turned to look back up at her friend. "Your scrawny butt doesn't eat that much anyway."

"You've obviously never taken her on a date," Mongrel mumbled over his shoulder to Spade. "I could barely afford the free glass of water for myself after she was done."

"What was that?" Dice called loudly after him.

He stopped upon reaching the first sub-basement, turned, and leveled his gaze at her. With intensity in his eyes, he spoke in a low, passionate voice, "I said that you are the most beautiful creature that I have ever seen and to be in your presence but a moment is a blessing, a true privilege I don't think I could ever be worthy of." He cocked an eyebrow at the end.

Dice paused three steps before reaching the landing and just stared at him, blinking for a few moments with her mouth slightly agape. Finally, her eyes narrowed as a wry smirk crept up the corner of her mouth. "Bullshit," she finally said before she continued down. "You and your pretty words. 'Sides, that's how you got in trouble last time."

"This is true," Mongrel admitted with a nod of his head.

"Shit," Spade interrupted. "I'll listen to his pretty words." She looked at Mongrel. "You can be dangerously charming when you want to be, you know that?"

He grinned back at her.

"Anyway," Spade continued as she started down the next flight of stairs, "I'm kinda glad you sent me home, though." She glanced over her shoulder at Dice. "You snore. Like a lot. I could hear you all the way from the couch."

"I do NOT snore," Dice said defensively. "I just breathe heavy while I sleep."

"Okay," Mongrel said, "_I'm_ even gonna call bullshit on that one. You're my best friend, but my god, fog horns are quieter."

"Babe," Spade spoke up, glancing back at Dice again, "I didn't tell you this, but while I was staying at your place and you were sleeping, China called."

"China called?" Dice asked with a perplexed look.

"Yeah," she replied. "They called to ask you to quit snoring; you were sending tremors through the ground and causing earthquakes on the other side of the planet."

"You can all just fuck off, ya buncha condescending bitches," Dice growled as she pushed ahead of them, leaving the rest of her friends smiling in her wake.

* * *

><p>"Not too many people here," Chaz remarked as they passed the broken statue of the angel and got to the hideout's lowest floor. Other than themselves, they saw only four other Saints, all of whom were seated around a far table in the corner near the bar.<p>

The first person he recognized was Bert who was gathering together a deck of cards from the other Saints. Off to Bert's right was Dennis, Bert's red-headed second-in-command. Across from Dennis was Dominic, another member of his crew. Opposite of Bert sat the fourth Saint, one Chaz didn't know, but he doubted he would ever forget him. He'd heard Bert got rid of Rico, the muscle in his crew. Maybe the new guy was his replacement; he'd definitely fit the bill.

The unknown Saint was a large black man in his mid to late-twenties, bald and clean shaven except for a small soulpatch. As Chaz and the others got closer, he stood. To say he was huge would be an understatement. He was over six and a half feet tall and one of the biggest people that Chaz had ever seen. He wore a sleeveless shirt which showed off his massive arms; they were thicker around than Chaz's head. His chest and shoulders were equally impressive. The man was probably somewhere in the neighborhood of 280 to 300 pounds. At the sight of him, Chaz started to slow down, but Dice's face lit up as she picked up her pace.

"Stammer!" she cried out in glee. "Haha!" The little girl charged across the large area to the huge man.

"Peanut!" his deep voice called back, echoing off the walls. "Whatchu doin' here?" He grinned and spread his arms wide. Dice slammed into him, giving the big man a tight squeeze as he gently hugged her back.

"I've missed you! You stickin' around?" Dice asked with a smile as she pulled back from her friend. "You gonna help us out for a while?"

"I'll be here for the day," he said, "but Carlos is in the back havin' a sit-down with the Big Chief herself and some of her pals." He indicated the double doors that led to Old Stilwater, where the Boss had her training Pit and gun range.

Chaz had seen that area once before, Old Stilwater. Old Stilwater was one of the first places the Boss and Johnny Gat cleared out when the Boss came back after waking from her coma. They cleared out a few Samedi and a whole lot of bums that worked with them. Over time, the bums slowly crept back. Since the new ones didn't seem to be supporters of the Samedi, the Boss just ignored them.

"So how's my girl doin' today?" the large man asked Dice.

Dice's demeanor changed immediately. She pouted as she shifted her weight to one hip while twirling her finger into his chest catching part of his shirt. "They're bein' mean to me," she whined, indicating Mongrel and Spade.

"Hmmm, well, I learned long ago not to get into a quarrel with a woman unless my life depended on it," he said glancing at Spade, "so you're just gonna have to deal with her yourself."

Spade just laughed.

The big man then focused on Mongrel. "But guys I don't mind quarrellin' with. Ya want I should have words with'im?" he asked while popping his neck.

"I wasn't thinking 'words' so much as say fists." Dice turned and leaned back against him as she folded her arms. "Don't mess'em up too badly; he's kinda cute and I like looking at'em so I wouldn't want any permanent damage done."

He rumbled a loud laugh as he tilted his head back. "Oh you don't never change do ya, Peanut?

Mongrel looked up at Stammer and raised an eyebrow.

The large man puffed out his chest and stared hard at Mongrel. "Junior, I'm gonna tell ya this just once so everyone knows: I got respect for ya. You're quicker'n me and I admit ya a lot more skilled'n just about anyone I know. Ya'd put up a real good fight and might even be able ta take me." Then he lowered his voice. "But ya know all I gotta do is get hold of ya once and you're done. Ya wanta take that chance?"

"Hmmm," Mongrel pondered a moment. "Not today."

"Good answer," he said with a wink as Dennis and Dominic began to rise.

"Alright then," Dennis said, "we'll be going."

"You guys leaving?" Mongrel asked.

"Yeah," responded Dennis. "Guard duty awaits. _Again_. Anthony and Jared are being pulled to help gather info on the Brotherhood, so we have to keep an eye on _Rusty's Needle_." He shook his head. "Like anyone's gonna rob a tattoo parlor."

"Least we get more money," Dominic said.

"There is that," Dennis said with a nod.

"Good," announced Bert. "I'm tired of losing anyway." He looked up with a glare at Stammer. "My partner's not very good at taking tricks."

"Maybe if ya knew how ta play the game," Stammer muttered.

"Well, as interesting as it would be to see Bert get his head smashed in for being a smart-ass," Dennis went on, "We're late. So, bye all!" He and Dominic headed up.

"Ooo, whatcha playing?" Spade said as she sat down in the most comfortable looking chair. "I'll be your partner, Big B."

"Spades."

"Oh yeah!" Spade said with a mischievous glimmer in her eye. "One of the best named games. All the best things in life have that name." She laughed.

"Cool," Bert said with a smile as he scooted his chair to align it opposite hers. "We'll win for sure."

"Before we get ta playin' again," Stammer said as he stepped forward, his eyes on Chaz, "ya need ta introduce me to your friend."

"Oh yeah!" Dice exclaimed. "You haven't met Chaz yet! He's part of Artemis' crew now." Turning to Chaz she continued, "You get your second canonizing today." She rubbed her hands in anticipation.

"Good ta meet ya," he extended his hand. "You can call me Stammer." Chaz reached out his own hand only to have it swallowed by Stammer's huge fist.

"Good to… uh, wait what? _Second_ canonizing?" He glanced to Dice and paled slightly. "Who? By _him_?" he asked indicating Stammer. "Why? What'd I do wrong?"

Dice laughed as she placed a reassuring arm about his shoulders. "You're doing fine. Nothing's wrong." She laughed again as she explained, "There's just a little tradition that some of us have. Us really awesome Saints that is. Whenever we get someone new, Stammer gives them a new name based off of his first impression of you."

"Hey! We playing or reminiscing?" grumped Bert who was starting to shuffle the deck again. "Who's in?"

"Wanta be my partner, Peanut?" Stammer asked taking a seat.

"Ugh, no," Dice complained. "Card games are boring. Nothing dies in'em."

"You?" Stammer asked Chaz.

"No. No thank you, sir," he replied.

"He's a polite young man, I'll give'em that," the large Saint remarked.

"That can be his name!" Dice smiled. "Polite boy!"

"Sounds like a stupid side-kick super-hero from a bad seventies cartoon show," muttered Bert.

"Naw, gimme a moment ta think on it," Stammer shook his head and then glanced at Mongrel. "Wanta partner up, Junior? Don't leave me hangin'."

"I guess," Mongrel answered pulling over a battered loveseat. "Spades, right? I, uh, I've not played that before, but I guess I could learn."

"Ugh, boring," Dice groaned with a sigh. "Really? This is what we're doing today?" She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. "Let's go see a movie or hold up a gas station or something."

"I'm broke," Stammer said as Bert started dealing out cards. "Besides I gotta stick 'round 'til Carlos tells me what's what. Big Chief's makin' plans."

"Whatever." She threw her arms up in defeat then sat on the armrest of the loveseat. "Scootch over," she told Mongrel, easing her weight over and flopping her rear end next to him leaving her legs draped over the armrest.

"Excuse me," Mongrel said with a shake of his head as she bumped into him. He moved over to give her room as he picked up his cards.

"You're excused." She took the cards from his hand. "Spades is like, uh, did you ever play 'Oh, Pshaw' or Whist?" He shook his head in the negative. "Uh, okay. Well, I know I've played pinochle with you before."

"Pinochle?" Bert made a face. "My mom plays that game. It's weird."

"In pinochle there's a different trump suit each hand," she continued on ignoring Bert, "but in Spades, the Spades are always trump. And instead of bidding for points, you bid to take tricks. You can take more, but you have to take at least that many, unlike 'Oh, Pshaw', where you have to take _exactly_ that many tricks."

"Man, for someone who doesn't like card games," Bert interjected, "you sure know enough about'em."

Without looking up, Dice replied, "I used to play a lot with my parents when I lived with them. A lot of good memories." She paused as she finished sorting Mongrel's hand. "Now that they're dead, I don't see much point in playing card games."

Spade scowled at Bert as she kicked him under the table.

"Ow, sorry," he replied glumly, then focused his attention on his own hand. "I'll shut up."

"Okay," Dice handed the cards back to Mongrel. "Stammer's your partner, so he can help you take tricks." She scrutinized his hand. "Alright, start off low, then work your way up. It gives your partner a chance to bid and tell you how well he can or can't help you. So bid, uh, two, no. Bid three."

"Three," Mongrel repeated.

Spade stared hard at her cards for a few moments then looked up at Bert with eyebrows raised. "Um, let me think a bit about this, be-_**FORE**_ I give my bid."

Bert smiled at her knowingly and said. "Oh, don't worry, I have faith in _**YOU**_." He winked. "I'll high _**FIVE**_ you when we win."

Spade smiled back. "Great! I bid nine."

"Fucking seriously?" Dice exclaimed with disgust. "C'mon, Blake doesn't even know how to play yet and you two are already cheating?" She crossed her arms as she leaned back. "Gimme a fucking break!" She glanced at Stammer for support. "This is crap!"

Stammer placed his cards down and carefully straightened them making a neat little stack. He leaned forward and interlaced his fingers as he cleared his throat. "While I respect your tactics," he started as he glanced at Bert, "if you do that again, I will break off your arm and beat ya to death with it."

Dice looked at Spade.

"What?" she asked. "Stammer already said he won't hit me and you know that you can't beat me in a straight up fight."

"No," admitted Dice, "but I'll get Blake to hold you down."

"Oh," Spade grinned slyly as she focused her gaze on Mongrel. "I like where this is going."

"Yeah, well you won't," Dice retorted. "While he's holding you down, I'll pull off your boots and tickle your feet." She leaned forward. "I _**know**_ how much you hate that and you know I _**will**_ do it." She flashed her teeth in an evil smile.

Spade blanched as her attention refocused on Dice. "Ew! Alright no more cheating."

Bert leaned back in his chair. "Don't worry m'dear," he said in an aristocratic manner, sniffling a little. "These barbarians with their rustic ways can't appreciate fine intellect."

"Agreed, my dear Bertram," Spade mimicked him as she sat upright and gingerly crossed her legs. "Without their threats of insidious gang violence upon our fine personages, they would most surely be overcome by our greater degree of skill." She looked down her nose at her cards. "Posh, such is the times I suppose."

"For the love of fuck," Dice grimaced, "let's just play."

…

...

"Twig!" Stammer blurted out one game and two hands later. Everyone stopped and looked over at him.

"Twig?" Mongrel asked in confusion. He glanced down at Dice who was resting the back of her head up against his chest. "How much is that? Do I bid him up?

"That's your boy's new name," he explained. "When I first saw'em, I thought 'Damn that boy is scrawny. I don't wanta be too rough or else I'll snap'em like a twig.'"

"Twig?" Chaz had a glum look on his face. "That's it?

"Yay!" Dice cheered as she leaned forward. "You've had your second canonizing! Aren't you excited?"

Chaz glanced back over at Stammer. "Not that there's anything wrong with it. It just doesn't seem that cool."

"Sorry," apologized Stammer, "but that's it. I thought it, now I have to say it. That's how it works."

"Hey, it could be worse," Spade teased as she looked over at Dice. "It could be Peanut."

"Peanut's cool," Dice said defensively. "It means I taste good and have lots of protein so I'm good for you."

"It means you're small," Stammer corrected.

"No arguing with women, remember?" Dice threatened. "It means 'I'm good for you'."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, that's what I meant." He shook his head.

"Mine's Junior," Mongrel piped up.

Stammer nodded his head. "Yeah, my boy's almost as tough as me. Kinda like a Mini-me. So, he's Junior."

"I'm Venus," Spade chimed in proudly. "Tell'em why, big guy." She glanced over at Chaz. "I _love_ this explanation."

"It's because a woman built as finely and curvaceously as you could only have been crafted by the divine touch of Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty herself."

"Oh yeah," Spade said with a sigh, "talk to me some more, big daddy."

"Pff, whatever," Dice grumbled as she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, but Twig?" Chaz asked.

"Hey, not everyone likes their second name," interjected Bert. "Artemis' is Stols."

"Stols?"

"Yep," Stammer said with a nod. "First time I met Stols I was impressed with his guns, two gleaming deadly pistols. Since compared to me he's small, I shortened Pistols down to just 'Stols'."

"He was hoping for Hawkeye or Trickshot or something like that," admitted Dice.

"It still sounds cool, though," Chaz said. He paused for a moment then glanced up at Bert. "So, uh, what's yours?"

"That's not important," Bert said looking down.

"There's no one I ever met like Bert here," Stammer said laying a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I mean the man's totally unique. So I just kept it."

"Kept it?" Chaz looked confused.

"Yep," Stammer winked, "Bert's just Bert. Nothin' compares to him."

"Dude didn't even try," Bert grumbled into his cards.

"Hey, it's still better than Peanut," Spade said with a grin.

"Ugh, I don't even know why you got a name," Dice growled, taking a swing as Spade pulled out of her reach. "You ain't even a Saint."

Chaz looked confused. "She's not a Saint?"

"Nope," Spade said proudly. "I'm the last Casino Queen."

"Yeah, but get this," Bert said. "Crazy girl here takes the initiation to be a Saint. I mean she goes through the whole canonizing process and all and then's like 'Thanks, but no thanks.' What the hell?

"I don't like being committed," she said with a shrug. "There're times I don't want to have to worry about flags and who's who. I wanted to see if I had what it takes to join and I did. I mean when Kat and I formed the Casino Queens we never really canonized anyone. We liked you, we just let you in. I'll never join another gang since my girl belongs with you purple people eaters," she hugged Dice at this point, "but for now I just want to stay neutral."

"But you wear the symbol on your belt buckle, right?'

"A college football team wears the fleur-de-lis symbol on their helmets," she pointed out. "I doubt they're gang members, though."

"So, uh, how'd you get your name?" Chaz finally asked the large man. "I mean you don't stammer at all when you speak."

Stammer took a deep breath and paused for a long moment before finally speaking two words, "Brian Shatonia."

"Who's Brian Shatonia?"

"Boy who tried canonizin' me," he said. "He was the first Saint who came at me. I, hmmm, I hit'em a bit too hard in response."

"Yeah," Bert said with a shake of his head. "He hit Brian so hard he can't talk without stammering now."

"Why didn't Brian get called Stammer then? No offense meant at all, but that does seem more appropriate."

"He's…" Stammer looked down with what actually appeared to be a hint of shame. "He's not exactly with the Saints anymore."

Bert nodded. "He's been in Sangre Sedienta Hospital in the Barrio for nearly seven months now. The Boss foots all the bills."

"I didn't mean ta do it," Stammer sighed heavily. "Alright, enough bad memories. Let's try somethin' more jovial."

"I could tell a joke," Bert offered.

"No." Stammer shook his head.

"What's red and sits in a corner?"

"No Dead Baby Jokes. They're not funny," Stammer grumbled. "AT ALL."

"Red and crawls into walls?"

"Stop it," the big man said, his face looking grim.

"Cries and crawls in a circle?"

"NO!" he bellowed and scowled at Bert.

"Oh, I got one! I got one!" Spade spoke up. "How can you tell if a guy has a high sperm count?"

"Really?" asked Dice. "Right to the sex jokes?"

"They're funny," she said with a grin.

"How?" asked Mongrel.

"A girl has to chew before she swallows," she said laughing.

"Ugh, gross," Dice replied as she stuck out her tongue.

"How can you tell if an elephant's been in your cupboard?" asked Mongrel.

"Oh, I like this one!" exclaimed Dice.

"There're footprints in the peanut butter," he answered as Dice laughed.

"That was stupid," remarked Bert.

"What's long, hard and filled with semen?" asked Spade.

"Again?" Dice shook her head.

"A submarine," Spade answered. "You know, seamen. Like sailors? Hah!"

"Do the perkity one," Dice said turning to Mongrel.

"No," he shook his head, "that one's really dumb."

"Worse than the elephant one?" asked Bert.

"Aw, but it's my favorite!" she exclaimed.

"Two guys were walking down the road," Spade said smiling. "One got off, and wiped it on the other."

"Spade! Seriously!" Dice grumbled.

"Okay, here's one," Bert started.

"No," Stammer growled.

"It's not a DBJ, I promise," Bert continued. "A guy is sitting in a bar. There's a monkey sitting behind the bar and every once in a while he runs to the end of the bar, takes a cherry from a bowl, sticks it up his butt then eats it. After the third time, the guy asks the bartender what that is all about. The bartender says, 'One time he ate a pool ball and now he measures everything before he eats it.'"

Stammer snorted, "Okay that was funny."

Spade spoke up. "A blind man enters the fish market and says 'Hello ladies!'"

"How do you get a clown off of a swingset?" asked Bert. After a second he answered, "With an axe."

Stammer grinned. "Okay that I like, mainly because I hate clowns. I MEAN HATE!"

"Really?" replied Bert. "How about this one: Two cannibals were eating a clown. One says to the other 'This taste funny to you?'"

Stammer snickered, a new experience no one had heard before.

"You know the best offense when fighting clowns?" Bert asked. "Go for the juggler."

Spade rolled her eyes, but Stammer chuckled.

"Do the perkity one!" Dice told Mongrel again.

"No!"

"Then what about the jumping elephants?"

He sighed, "Fine. Why shouldn't you go into the jungle between 3pm and 4pm?" He paused then continued, "Because that's when all the elephants are jumping out of trees onto peanuts to make peanut butter."

"Okay, Blake, you're pretty," Spade admitted, "but that one was just dumb."

"Hold on." He went on, "Why are pygmies so short?" After a pause, he finished, "Because they went into the jungle between 3pm and 4pm."

Dice started laughing hard. "Oh god!" she'd obviously heard it before. "I love that one!"

Spade narrowed her eyes. "Blake, as I said before, you're pretty, but…"

"Why don't cannibals like divorced women?" asked Bert. "Because they're bitter!"

Stammer chuckled again.

"What kind of meat do priests eat on Fridays?" Spade asked with a twinkle in her eye. "None, as in _nun_!"

"Um," Chaz finally piped up, "What do you call a fly without wings?" He waited a moment. "A walk."

Dice sniggered at it, but Bert and Spade groaned.

"Here's one that Darcy told me and Artemis," Bert said. "How many psychiatrists does it take to change a lightbulb?" He smiled before continuing, "None. The lightbulb has to _want_ to change."

"Hmmm," said Spade, "I think the funniest part about that joke is that Darcy actually has a sense of humor."

"Ouch." Bert replied. "Me-oww!"

"None of that now," Stammer said.

Dice leaned over to Mongrel and whispered, "Do the perkity one."

"No."

"Fine, I'll do it."

"Thank god," quipped Spade twisting her mouth. "I was getting tired of you asking."

"Okay, okay." Dice sat upright. "Here goes: What's six feet tall with green feathers, uh, wait a minute, how's it go?"

"You're mangling it," Mongrel shook his head.

"Then you do it!"

"Fine." He looked down, took a deep breath.

"Yay!" she squealed, clapping her hands.

"Here it is," he leaned forward and glanced at his friends around the table, searching out each of their eyes in turn. "What is it…" he started off in a low dramatic voice, "…that is green, round and five feet tall…" he slowly sat upright. "… has brown, shaggy fur and blue scaly claws…" He gestured with his hands like an animal attacking. "…weighs exactly 147 pounds and…" He got quiet and quickly leaned forward again, making Bert actually jump back. "…goes 'Perkity, perkity, perkity.'?" Dice mouthed the last three words with him as he finished the riddle. A long pause ensued.

Bert and Spade glanced at each other, then looked back to Mongrel.

"Well?" asked Bert, leaning forward. "What is it?"

A sly grin worked its way to Mongrel's lips as he said a single word, "Nothing."

The room was quiet for a second before Dice roared out in laughter, clutching her sides and kicking her legs. "Nothing!" she screamed.

Bert looked confused. "What?"

"Nothing," answered Mongrel. "Nothing is all those things."

Dice managed to actually fall _out_ of the loveseat she was laughing so hard.

Bert blinked, looked at the others then looked back at Mongrel. "Leave," he said pointedly. "I'm not your friend anymore." He gathered the cards together.

"What?" he asked as Dice giggled uncontrollably and tears started welling up in her eyes.

"That joke was stupid. Take your crazy-ass girlfriend and leave." He indicated Dice curled up on the floor. "I'm done with you." He looked at Spade and Stammer as he started shuffling the cards again. "You guys wanna play war?"

The doors leading out of Club Purgatory and into Old Stilwater suddenly opened and four figures passed through. The first one was Carlos. He looked worried.

Behind him came a serious looking, well-built, well-muscled black woman about five and a half feet tall. All present knew who she was: Tamara Robbson. She was one of the very first Saints to call the Boss a friend, a homie. She had been known as the Wheel Woman back in 2006 when the Boss first joined the Saints. She was probably one of the best drivers in the city and one of the meanest fighters they had.

After her was the Boss herself: a tall, beautiful woman of mixed Chinese and American heritage. She glided through the doors with the grace and predatory stare of a panther. One final person followed.

He was about six feet tall with a long lean athletic build. He had spiky black hair over a sharp featured clean-shaven face. He had high cheekbones and a thin nose but the sensuous lips of a woman that was currently twisted into a sinister grin. He was well dressed with black jeans, black buttoned down shirt, black vest with purple fleur-de-lis, and a black leather duster.

"I'll handle it, Boss," he purred in a low, smooth voice.

She grinned, "You always do."

As he walked past the table, his cornflower blue eyes scanned the group with an intensity that hinted at a cold, cruel intelligence and quickly dismissed them as inconsequential. He took his black aviators out of an inner jacket pocket and brought them up slowly. His right hand, holding the glasses, had four letters tattooed on the knuckles: K I N D.

"Wow," Spade squeaked in a quiet voice. "Who's the Yummy McNummy?"

"Oh fuck me," Dice sat up on the floor, her laughter fading away almost immediately. "It's really him. It's Dyson."

"Who?" Spade asked again as she leaned forward to get a better view.

Bert turned back to Spade, a pale look on his face. "That's his new name, but back in the old days, back when the Saints ran around with Julius and all them he had a different name." He swallowed uncomfortably. "That's Mr. Kind."

Spade eyes widened with a mixture of fascination and horror. Mr Kind. At one time, he was one of the most feared men in all of Stilwater. It was rumored that he strangled his own father to death with a chain so he could take control of his criminal connections before hooking up with the Saints over five years ago. He was a boogeyman, a murderer, an engine of destruction. Where Carlos, Shaundi, and Pierce were the Boss's lieutenants, and Johnny Gat was her second-in-command, Mr. Kind was the weapon in her hand.

As Mr. Kind and Tamara ascended the steps Stammer shook his head. "Huh," he whispered in a low and respectful voice, "Dyson's back." He looked around at his fellows and merely said, "I guess the Boss isn't jokin' around anymore."

* * *

><p><span><strong>AUTHOR'S FAQ:<strong>

**Seriously dude? More OCs?**** Technically none of the OCs 'introduced' in this chapter are new. Dyson/Mr. Kind was originally mentioned last chapter. Stammer was first mentioned way back in Chapter 5 (Ep1, Part 5) as the one who killed a Samedi named Gaede that Dice shot. No really, go check. As for Tamara, she's just my version of Wheel Woman Homie from SR1, the first homie you unlock, in fact, so she really isn't even an OC of mine. They're more like guest appearances; they're not going to be mainstream characters anytime soon.**

**Why'd you review your own work?**** Yeah... One of my best friends in the world is the wonderful girl and fellow FF writer known as **_**High Mage Lady Hawkmoon.**_** I'm always asking her advice/help on things, including as mentioned at the beginning of the chap, the description of Dyson. She was at my house on the day my/her reviews went up (which, if you check her profile, means I live in Midwest USA as well). She snuck onto my computer and forgot to sign me out and herself in when she loaded up the FF site (she's been properly thrashed for doing so). She 'reviewed' my last chap under my profile, realized her mistake and 'reviewed' it again under her own profile. She does have an ulterior motive for helping me; she wants to work on a co-lab SR2 story sometime soon set in the same universe but running simultaneously/parallel to 'Being a Saint.'**

**Do you realize your A/N are always friggin' huge and that this FAQ should probably be on your profile page?**** Yep.**

**Thanks all!**


	19. Ep 3: Retaliation, Part 1

**A/N:**

**My newest Episode, Retaliation, begins here. Things are going to get chaotic.**

**I own nothing but my original ideas and OCs.**

**Warning: Rated M for scenes involving excessive violence, language, and adult content.**

**Please read no further if these aren't your thing as I do not wish to offend anyone…**

* * *

><p><strong>Episode 3: <strong>**Retaliation**

**Part 1**

* * *

><p><strong>Prawn Court, Red Light District, Stilwater<strong>

** Tuesday, May 3, 2011, 11:02am**

** Dice's Apartment**

* * *

><p>"Seriously?"<p>

Dice sighed as she retrieved the plastic milk jug from deep within the confines of her refrigerator. She grimaced as she looked at the '_Best By'_ date: March 13, 2011.

"Maybe it's still good," she wondered aloud and flipped the closed container over.

Nothing happened for a moment and then a slow, sucking **-_schloop-_** sounded as the gelatin-like substance slopped towards the cap.

"Alrightee, then!" A squeamish look crossed her face while she held the container gingerly by the handle as if touching it too much would give her an unknown disease. She moved to the trashcan and unceremoniously dumped it in. With a look of disappointment, she glanced over at her naked bowl of cereal with slices of strawberries mixed in.

The day had started out with such potential:

She'd awoken before eleven in the morning, (a rare occurrence in and of itself) _and_ in a good mood (an even rarer occurrence). Even better, she hadn't had a nightmare last night. That made four days straight; she got a mental image of a dry erase board showing '_Nights without a Nightmare: 4'_ like those displayed proudly in factories showing their number of days with a lack of accidents. Finally, the nightmare-free sleep happened without her having to drink herself unconscious.

Then, everything went to crap.

Her favorite shirt, a pink baby doll tee depicting a cute anime girl holding a bloody chainsaw with the caption _'Let me Love You'_ beneath it, was dirty. Actually, rancid would be a better term.

The hot water was on the fritz; this seemed to be happening at the beginning of every month nowadays, so she hadn't been able to enjoy her hot morning shower. When she called Mr Mendergan, he reassured her it would be up and working again shortly after noon.

She'd grabbed her favorite cereal, wheat flakes with strawberries, only to discover the box was nearly empty (maybe enough for one more small bowl after this one) and that her supply of milk was now the equivalent of pond sludge.

"Ugh."

Dice grabbed a spoon and began sadly crunching away at her dry meal. Maybe she could at least relax and have a nice day at home.

Her wishful thinking was interrupted by the buzzing of her cell phone. She looked at the screen and smiled when she saw it was her best friend.

"Hey, Blake!" she answered enthusiastically. "What's up? You wanna come over?"

"No time, Dice," he replied quickly. "There's a situation and Artemis told me to call you. Are you up? Are you dressed yet?"

"I can get dressed." She set her breakfast bowl down at the sound of urgency in his voice. She looked around her apartment to find where she tossed her cargo pants last night. "What's going on?"

"I'll tell you when we get there," Mongrel said. "Artemis is getting Chaz now. We'll be leaving as soon as we can collect Bert's crew. Be ready for us. See you in a bit." The phone clicked off.

So much for relaxing.

Dice sighed again as she gathered her clothes and weapons. "This is just gonna be a shit day."

* * *

><p>Clementine, Artemis' reinforced Stiletto, tore south on Burroughs Avenue along the far eastern edge of Copperton as <em>The 'Real Bots' Wind-Up Doll Factory<em> flew by on the right. Dice, seated behind Chaz, leaned forward.

"The Samedi are attacking the Brotherhood in Pilsen!" she cried out.

"I know," Artemis called back over his shoulder, trying to concentrate on the road ahead as Burroughs Avenue merged with Hancock Street.

"Pierce and the Boss still have hopes for peace between the Brotherhood and the Saints!"

"I know." A _Brown Baggers_ passed on the right as the western edge of Athos Bay came into view on their left.

"Stammer and Carlos are already heading there to deal with the Samedi!" she exclaimed.

"I know." They followed Hancock as it turned east, passing a warehouse labeled '_Testistkalis_' in faded white letters.

"We gotta get there and help'im out!"

"I know!" Artemis barked angrily back over his shoulder as they entered The Mills.

"Dice, relax! Sit down," Mongrel said as he pulled her back onto the seat next to him. "We're getting there. Let Artemis drive."

Dice looked up at him with a scowl. Finally she relented, saying, "Sorry. It's just those green fuckers are nuts. I don't want'im getting hurt."

"None of us do," he agreed. He looked up as Artemis turned south on Murdoch Road in between Pilsen and The Mills.

It seemed that the Samedi had decided to expand their territory and that the neighborhoods of the Factories District were to be their targets. With the recent altercations between the Third Street Saints and the Sons of Samedi, there was little doubt that full out war was but a breath away for the two large gangs.

It had been decided early on that the Brotherhood was the best chance that the Saints had of getting an ally, although Maero's offer of twenty percent hadn't helped matters. The Boss and Carlos therefore chose to keep close tabs on the Brotherhood and offer their services should the Brotherhood ever need help with the cops or other gangs, like they did now. The fact that they were fighting the Samedi was just an added bonus.

Even this far away, with the engine going, tires squealing, and the wind whipping by, the gunfire could be heard. Figures could be seen crossing the road ahead. Some were heading into Pilsen, some away. The former were wearing red and black, the colors of the Brotherhood. The latter seemed to be civilians fleeing for their lives.

Artemis had to swerve around an old couple that just wanted to get away safely. Clementine went into the oncoming lane, then back. He heard tires squealing behind him struggling to keep up. It was Bert in his Wellington. The Wellington may have been a tougher vehicle, but the Stiletto had much better handling.

Twenty-five feet from the southern end of the road, Artemis turned hard to the left. Clementine gripped the road better than he hoped and the car plunged east through the large open gate by the eastern factories. He hazarded a look into his rearview and saw Bert straining with his heavier car to match Artemis's sharp maneuver. Surprisingly he did. _My man knows how to drive that boat_ thought Artemis wryly, then he focused on the fight ahead of him.

In front of the Saints was a small, open, dirt-covered lot. Two Brotherhood gang members were firing eastward at a small horde of figures, some of which wore Samedi green. The rest were dressed in various outfits in subdued hues. It was Dice who first commented about it as they got closer.

"Look!" She leaned forward once more, pointing at the figures. "The Samedi are using their little thug minions again!"

"Yeah," agreed Artemis, "why use your own people when you can sacrifice wannabes? That's not actually a bad strategy."

"If you're a callous shit, maybe," she replied.

The car surged, kicking up dirt and gravel. The two Brotherhood turned at the sound, but were immediately cut down by Samedi gunfire.

"Damn it!" cried Artemis. "We want to keep these guys alive!" The Samedi started firing at the new arrivals. Artemis sped his car forward and drove out of the enemy gang's range behind a large spherical tank located on the southern edge of the lot. Shutting the engine off, he quickly exited the vehicle and readied his weapons. His crew did likewise as Bert tucked his wagon in behind Clementine. Bert, Dennis, and Dominic quickly clambered out, loading their own weapons as they did so. As everyone gathered close, Artemis addressed his fellow Saints.

"People, this is for real! No stupid shit. Dominic, Chaz, this is one of your first real gunfights. These people will try to **kill** you. No standing in the open pretending to be all bad-ass gangsta. You find cover, you take it and you use it. Do you understand me?" The Saints nodded as they checked ammo clips.

"Alright, Dice and Bert with me," he looked at the two senior-most Saints. "We'll be targeting the Samedi themselves. They're more than likely better shots, so it's up to us to slow them down." They both nodded as he turned to the others. "Dennis, you lead the second group. You and Mongrel stay here until I signal. At my mark, you two head around the tanks and go to the other side. Dom and Chaz, you follow behind them. Do as they say, you understand me?" The two youngest crew members nodded their heads in agreement.

He focused on Dennis again. "You strike at their thugs. With us engaged, their attention should be focused here. If possible, we'll get them in a cross-fire, but don't wait for us if you have a clear advantage."

"Right," the red headed Saint answered back.

"Remember, if anyone takes heavy fire pull back. Ready?" No one argued. "I'm on point. Let's go!" Artemis crouched low and hurried to the edge of the empty tank. He paused a moment, holding both guns in his left hand. With his right he found the gold cross under his shirt, gripped it, and mouthed a quick prayer. That done, he got his pistols ready again and clicked off his safeties.

He inched forward and took a quick glance around the edge. A gunshot rang out as a bullet ricocheted close to his head. It didn't matter, Artemis had seen his assailant. He fired off two rounds (just to be sure) from one of his custom GDHC.50s. The shots found their target and the first Samedi dropped to the ground. Over to the far left, Artemis saw three more Samedi trotting forward; two had SMGs, one had a Vice 9. He fired off two rounds with his left pistol and dropped the closest Samedi wielding an SMG. Two more shots from his right caught the pistol-carrying Samedi in the chest; he too fell. The final Samedi dropped flat and began firing quick bursts.

Artemis pulled back as some bullets slammed into the tank while others zipped by. He signaled to Dennis, Mongrel and the others to begin moving around the southern side of the tank. The bullets stopped coming.

Artemis risked a quick peek around the edge and saw the Samedi re-loading. He didn't give his rival gang member a chance to finish. Three shots rang out from Artemis's left pistol and found their mark. The green clad gang-member twitched then stopped moving. Artemis signaled to Bert and Dice to follow.

The three Saints trotted low around the western side of the tank's support beams. Glancing around the northern edge, Artemis spotted a large group of figures, some nine strong. He whispered to his compatriots to be ready for their opening and then took off at a run westward, _away_ from the tank and into the open.

"Come get it, Samedi bitches!" he cried out as he fired three rounds from his left pistol. Two hit one Samedi in the side knocking him over, while the third caught another square in the face. His left pistol empty, Artemis fired off the last four rounds in his right pistol. Two flew wide, but the others found and dropped a third enemy gangster. Artemis increased his speed, running hard across the open lot to a shallow rise some seventeen feet away. He heard the remaining Samedi call out in frustration and begin firing at him. Their sounds were quickly drowned out by the cries of his fellow Saints.

"You heard him!" screamed Dice as she sprayed her SKR-9 Threat on full-auto into the mass of enemies. "Die Samedi bitches!" She crouched up against the tank's support beams allowing Bert to stand above her and open up with his own SMG – a T3K Urban.

Between the two of them, Bert and Dice managed to drop five more of the Samedi. Three were killed instantly, but two of them fell and were writhing in pain. The last, surprisingly untouched, Samedi quickly took in the situation and wisely ran north for the larger metal structures there.

…

Dennis and the others got to the far eastern end of the steel supports of the large spherical tank. He signaled for the others to hold back as he heard the gunfire start. He looked out and counted eight figures in various colored clothing. They were heading further eastward, apparently ignoring the gunfight to the west. They were following a ninth figure dressed in black with a green rag wrapped around his upper right arm.

"Hey I know that guy!" Chaz whispered loudly as he looked between some of the steel beams. He pointed to the figure in black, a young, rail-thin Asian person. "We fought him in Shivington!" Dennis glanced back at the young Saint.

"He's right," agreed Mongrel as he got into a better position. "His name is Checkers." He looked more intently. "Looks like he was made an honorary Samedi," he said noting the green armband.

"And given control of his own little pack of thugs," Dennis finished. "Hmmm. I say we make his first command his last command." He readied his Tombstone shotgun. "Dominic, you and Chaz fire when you hear me start. Keep low and tight. Mongrel, when one of them stops to reload, I want you to take his place. We need constant fire. I doubt their morale will hold up for long. Ready guys?" His fellow Saints enthusiastically agreed.

Dennis crept forward and moved just around the north-western edge of the support structure. He carefully stood then cried, "Now!" He began firing into the slowly moving pack. Chaz and Dominic followed suit with their Vice 9s.

Before the assembled thugs knew what hit them, four of their number were already down. The rest turned and tried to ready their weapons, but the constant firing claimed two more.

"Get the hell outta here!" Checkers screamed in his high pitched voice as he ran north toward the huge tanks in the middle of the factory.

"Mongrel, get him!" Dennis yelled. He'd emptied all eight rounds of his shotgun and was reloading.

Mongrel stepped out from behind the fixture and quickly fired his NR4 five times at the thugs fleeing away from them. Most of his shots hit the ground around them, the last round managing to hit an _already dead_ thug. Dennis was too stunned by Mongrel's ability, or rather the lack thereof, to finish reloading before their enemies were out of range.

"What the hell was that?" Dennis yelled.

"Yeah, um," Mongrel looked down sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not very good with guns."

"No shit!" was all Dennis could reply.

…

Artemis got to the rise and dove behind it. Staying low, he popped out both empty cartridges and reloaded quickly. Armed once again, he focused his attention eastward.

All of the Samedi, save one who quickly fled north, were down. Further east, Artemis saw a large pack of Samedi-allied thugs heading toward the office buildings. A hail of gunfire erupted south of them and six more of the Saints' enemies dropped. The final three also ran north as five completely wild shots chased them away.

Artemis nodded proudly as he allowed himself a brief smile. Eighteen enemies had been dealt with in less than two minutes without a single loss (as far as he knew) from his own teammates. The Sons of Samedi wouldn't stand a chance if things kept up at this rate. His crew had done well.

He was roused from his musings by the quick bursts of gunfire as Dice and Bert walked up and finished off the two wounded Samedi. He cursed under his breath as he got to his feet. _So much for getting any useful info from those two_ he thought as he approached his fellow Saints. He kept an eye at the central structures to which his enemies had fled, just in case they decide to counterattack, but they seemed to be gone for the moment.

"Before you start bitching," Dice purposefully averted her gaze from him as she reloaded her SMG, "if you wanted any prisoners to interrogate, ya should'a said something about it beforehand." Her gun ready, she finally looked him square in the eyes. "I've had a crappy morning, and after all this time, you should know how I am. It's _your_ _own _fault they're all dead now."

"My fault? How?" Artemis looked confused then shifted his gaze to Bert.

"What?" Bert returned his gaze coolly. "I don't need to explain myself to you."

Artemis sighed, "You know what? Forget it." He waved his arms in defeat. "I'm not even going to _bother_ arguing with you two." He shook his head. "C'mon, let's get the others."

The trio circled behind the vehicles as Dennis and his group were coming back.

"Good work there!" Artemis called out. "It looks like the southern factory yard is ours."

"Um, your guy needs to work on his aim," Dennis commented, indicating Mongrel.

"Was that last bit you?" Artemis asked.

Mongrel nodded.

"Man, at first I thought you guys were just chasing off the survivors," Artemis grumbled. "But now…"

"I've been practicing," Mongrel muttered glumly. "Honestly."

"Baby," Dice sighed with a shake of her head, "you're my favorite person in the whole world and can fight like nobody's business, but you couldn't hit a skyscraper if you were standing on top of it and _dropped_ a bullet straight down."

…

...

"Checkers again?" Artemis asked in an irritated manner as his fellow Saints and he got extra ammo from the supplies from the trunks of their vehicles. "I gave that boy a chance, and he ups and stays with the Samedi." He shook his head.

"Well, what now?" asked Bert.

As if in answer to his question, a late 1950s model purple Hollywood with chrome trim squealed onto the lot through the large open gate west of their position. Startled by the sound, the collected Saints whirled around and two SMGs, five pistols and a Tombstone shotgun flew up and were quickly aimed at the approaching vehicle.

"Hey, Stols!" came a cry from the driver. "It's just us!" The vehicle skidded to a stop in a small cloud of dust. The engine shut off, and out stepped Stammer and Carlos Mendoza.

"You gotta be kidding' me. Carlos shows up now," Bert muttered angrily under his breath as Dennis and Mongrel glanced at him. "And he's supposed to be in charge of the Brotherhood. What any girl'd see in him is beyond me. Useless shit," he trailed off.

The Saints' Lieutenant spoke up, "I'm sorry we're late. What's the situation? Is anyone hurt?"

"Everything's cool, boss," Artemis replied. "At least eighteen Samedi and thugs down. Another four unaccounted for." He paused and indicated the bodies of the dead red-clad gang members. "That's the only Brotherhood we've seen. What's your call?"

Carlos smirked. "Seems like you got it under control." He glanced up at Stammer before refocusing his attention on Artemis. "You've done all the hard work. _You_ tell _us_ what we can do to help."

Artemis smiled then turned back to his crew. "Same set-up. Dom, you go with Carlos and Stammer. You guys take the west side and move north, if that's cool with you." Carlos smiled in agreement.

He looked at Dennis. "You, Mongrel and Chaz take the far east side and search the office buildings there. Work your way north."

He finally looked at Bert and Dice. "We'll take the center." Then he addressed them all. "See if you can find Checkers. We get hold of him and we'll learn all sorts of information."

…

...

"I'm just sayin'," Dennis kidded, "your gun skills are sorely lacking."

"Let's just find these guys," Mongrel grumbled. He had just finished searching one of the small office buildings and was moving to the next one.

"What do you think?" Dennis asked as he looked over his shoulder to Chaz.

The young Saint thought about it a moment as they followed Mongrel. "I dunno. He's pretty tough. I'm just glad he's on our side."

"Thank you," Mongrel called back. He edged around some large, white metal barrels that had fire hazard warnings painted along their sides.

"Suck up," Dennis chuckled then he made some kissing noises.

Mongrel passed two more barrels set in front of the next office building which was built more like a small shack. He turned as he climbed the two steps leading to the door.

"You're just upset because Artemis has more loyalty in his crew," Mongrel shot back with a slight smirk. "I mean you do have to put up with Bert, so I feel for you." He reached for the handle of the door.

"Yeah, there is that."

"Mongrel, look out!" Chaz screamed in warning as he quickly pulled up his Vice 9. The door had been yanked open from the inside and a pistol shoved through the entrance.

Mongrel turned at the shout and ducked low to the right just as the pistol went off. Had it not been for the combination of Chaz's warning and his own speed, he would have been shot square in the chest. As it was, the bullet skimmed right across the edge of his left shoulder as the muzzle flash scorched an agonizing black trail across his skin.

He stumbled down the steps as Chaz opened fire, emptying half of his clip into the figure who fell backwards into the shed. A Samedi leapt over the body of the fallen man, followed by another of the thugs.

Before he could bring his shotgun up, Dennis was grappled by the green-clothed gang member. Chaz tried to aim, but couldn't get a clear shot. The thug kept Dennis in between himself and Chaz as he approached to give aid to the Samedi. Chaz backed off to get into a better position as Dennis tried twisting the gun free, but the Samedi was too strong.

The thug pulled out a small pistol, got into a better position of his own, and started to aim at Dennis' face. The red-headed Saint tried to turn, but couldn't get enough leverage. He saw the gun rise up, heard the safety click off, and then...

…Mongrel happened.

The large Saint, bleeding from his shoulder wound, recovered and grabbed the thug by the back of the head with his left hand as he wrapped his right arm around the thug's neck. With a swift, vicious movement, he twisted downward, creating a muffled crunching noise that signaled the end of the thug.

Before the deceased thug had crumpled to the ground, Mongrel was going for the Samedi. The rival gang member released Dennis and spun to face him.

Dennis stepped back and readied his weapon. He was going to tell Mongrel to get out of the way so he could deal with the enemy gang member, but it wasn't necessary.

The Samedi swung with a wide right hook. The large Saint easily dodged it and knocked his opponent back with a quick jab of his own. The Samedi quickly recovered and moved back in.

Mongrel tightened his arms close to his body in a defensive posture and waited. The Samedi plunged forward with a solid jab. Mongrel blocked the blow with his left forearm as he brought his right elbow straight up, catching his enemy on the chin. The Samedi staggered back, stunned by the solid blow, but Mongrel wasn't done yet.

The big Saint moved in quickly, his arms held in tight again. Then, in a blur of movement, he struck. He brought his rear leg forward as if to throw a kick. Instead he snapped the leg back while throwing a strong cross, the motion adding even greater power behind the punch. The Samedi's head snapped back and he stumbled into the steps of the shed.

"Holy Christ!" Dennis screamed as he gaped in wonder. "That's-that's the most bad-ass shit I've ever seen." He glanced at Chaz for a moment. "You're right. I'm glad he's on our side, too."

A sudden scream from inside the shed grabbed their attention. "Why you Saints always got fuck up shit, yeah?"

Dennis could just make out the skinny Asian guy dressed in black, Checkers, reaching down and retrieving the pistol from the fallen thug inside the building.

"Die, you fucks!" the Samedi wannabe yelled as he readied the weapon.

Dennis fired off his Tombstone. Most of the pellets flew through the open doorway, but some struck the outside, hitting the white barrels in particular. He pulled the trigger a second time just as he saw a yellow-brown liquid start seeping from small holes in the barrels.

"Oh shit," he muttered.

_**WHOOOOMMM!**_

Dennis flew back from the resulting explosion and landed hard on the ground.

_OhcrapwhaddidIdo, _his thoughts blurred together as a screaming ringing noise flooded his ears. He looked about as the landscape flowed and shifted. He saw Mongrel stumble back holding his head. The big Saint stopped then fell onto his side._ NononoIkilledMongrel! _his tortured brain tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Where was Chaz? Why was everything getting black… and fading away… why…

And darkness engulfed him…

...

...

"Hold still, baby!" Dice said, her face a mask of concern as she tended Mongrel's wound. "Let me finish dressing this shoulder up." She looked up as Artemis got back. "Well?"

"Gone." Artemis shook his head as he approached the Saints. "That boy has more lives than a back alley cat."

The rest of the Saints had heard the huge explosion from their different locations about the factory and quickly converged on the source. They found their fellows in various poor states of health and quickly dragged them off as Artemis went to investigate what sounded like a car engine roaring to life. They made it back to their own cars and had been waiting until now for his return.

"It was Checkers alright," he confirmed their suspicions. "Samedi had a few vehicles hidden away."

"Let me make some calls," Carlos said and got his cell phone out.

"What do we do now?" Bert asked Artemis quietly.

"First, how is everyone?" Artemis asked.

"Chaz is doing okay," Bert explained. "Dennis is a bit shaken up, but I think he feels worse about blowing everything to shit than being actually physically wounded." He looked back at his crew member.

"Mongrel?" Artemis asked Dice.

"He was hurt the worst," she admitted, "but I think he's more stunned than anything."

"No, I'm fine," Mongrel suddenly muttered as he got to his feet. "What's next for me, Artemis?"

"Actually, I think you guys are done here," Carlos said as he approached. "I got Anthony and Jared coming to collect the rest of the Samedi's cars; Boss says to sell'em." He opened his wallet and retrieved a large wad of cash which he handed to Artemis. "Boss has me keep some emergency funds on hand. There's fifteen hundred dollars there."

"Holy crap!" Bert said with a whistle.

"Divide it among your crew," Carlos continued. "I told the Boss that it was you guys that did all the work. She agrees that you guys deserve the pay-out. There'll be more once we get the final numbers for the Samedi's cars."

"Thanks, man, er, boss," Artemis said, catching himself.

Carlos just smiled. With a wave of hand his said, "I don't care about all that 'boss' stuff. I just like working with the gang. Anyhow, you guys take off, we got it from here."

* * *

><p>Dice sat in the back of Bert's Wellington as he drove her back to her apartment in Prawn Court. Next to her sat Mongrel who had been unusually quiet the entire trip, even for him. She glanced over at the blonde man who was silently staring out his window.<p>

"You okay, Blake?" she asked.

He turned to look at her, his expression hard to read in the low light of dusk's approach.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Just sorry."

"About what?"

He turned back to look out his window. "Too many things," he trailed off.

She was confused but didn't want to push the subject. They sat quietly in the backseat until several minutes later when Bert pulled up along the side of her building.

"Last stop. Everybody out," Bert announced.

"Thanks, Bert," she said as she exited.

"Hey, give me a minute," Mongrel said suddenly as he exited his side. "I just want to walk her to her door."

"Geez. Here we go again," Bert groused as he put his car in park and shut the engine off.

…

...

Mongrel escorted her around the corner of her building up to the back entrance.

"Hey, today was fun, right?" she said trying to lighten the mood. "Got some money, too." She patted her pocket where her share of the fifteen hundred dollars was tucked.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," he said quietly.

"Uh, what?" she answered. Maybe the barrel exploding had messed with his memory.

"In the alley, the night you were attacked," he explained. "I wasn't there for you."

Dice looked surprised. "What, from three weeks ago?"

"Then, today, I was almost shot," he continued, as he looked away for a moment, "and I thought 'I could've been killed and I never would be able to tell you'."

"Tell me what?" she looked perplexed.

"That I was sorry, and that I think about you all the time; God, I sound like a stalker, now," he gazed back at her, a lost look on his face. "And…"

She returned his gaze as she asked, "And what?"

He hesitated for a moment, uncertain. Then suddenly he reached out, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him, trapping her left arm between them.

"What the fuc... mmph!" Her eyes widened in shock as he pressed his lips onto hers. She struggled for a moment not sure what exactly was happening, what he was doing. And then…

…and then she realized he was kissing her. Deeply. Passionately.

Her eyes closed, as she relaxed into him, reciprocating the kiss. He held on tightly as she angled her body against his. One hand pinned, she ran the other up over his shoulder, along his neck and through his hair.

She could smell him. Taste him. And all her memories of their previous time together came flooding back. Even though they hadn't been together for more than a year and a half everything seemed familiar, everything seemed right, as if they'd never been apart. She pressed closer, more aggressively. She enjoyed the feeling of him, the sensation of him around her; she hadn't realized how much her body missed his. He held her against him with his left arm as his right raked down her side, past her hip and across her outer thigh. He pulled her leg up against him, eliciting a hungry, passionate groan from her throat.

The sound seemed to bring him back to his senses and he released her, stepping back.

"That's not..."

"Um, okay then," she tried to catch her breath. "Um, you, uh…"

"That's not what I intended to say, er do, actually." He looked embarrassed.

"Um, yeah, we can go talk upstairs. If, you know, you want to go and talk upstairs," she mumbled.

"I know we agreed to do the 'just friends' thing but I wanted you to know…"

"Know what?" she pressed.

"That I still think about you. That I still love you. That I always will." He looked down and shook his head. "God, it sounds so idiotic that way. I can never say the right thing when it matters."

"We can talk upstairs if you want to talk," she suggested again. "Or even not talk if you don't want to. Um, we can do other stuff." _No, stupid_, she silently berated herself, _don't fuck it up and sound desperate._

He glanced up at her apartment window, indecision on his face. He looked for all the world like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, a beautiful confused creature that was ready to bolt at a moment's notice. "I don't know."

"Hey, look at me," she said and held her arms out. He glanced at her again. "Just follow me." She started backing slowly towards her building, keeping her eyes locked on his. He hesitated, then finally took a slow, half-step forward.

"What the fuck are you two doing out here?" Bert's voice called out as he came around the corner. "You guys making out or some shit?"

Dice shut her eyes tightly and used all of her self-control to not pull her NR4 from the small of back and shoot him in the kneecap. "No, Bert, we're fine," she called back. Then she looked up at Mongrel again. "You can still come up if you to," she offered, but she knew she'd lost him even before he took the step backwards.

"No," he said quietly, "not like this." He gazed into her eyes. "When I do accept your offer, it'll be the right way and not because I'm being such an idiot."

"Don't say it like that," she started. "Like you're taking it back."

"I'm not." He shook his head as he took a deep breath. "I'm not taking anything back; I do love you. I never stopped. You're more important to me than anything else in this world and I needed you to know that." He seemed sure of himself again, as if saying it aloud somehow renewed him. "I just, I gotta go before Bert bitches some more. We'll talk about this, you have my word." He nodded to her again, turned on his heel and moved back to where Bert was waiting.

"Everything okay?" Bert asked.

"Yeah, Bert. Let's go," he replied and a second later they were gone around the corner.

…

The hot water had been fixed and Dice enjoyed a fresh shower as she thought about the conversation with Blake down on the lot a few minutes ago.

Surprisingly, she wasn't angry. She was pretty sure she should have been. Bert did epically fuck up everything. She reached her hand up and lightly ran her fingertips across her lips where she had been kissed. Or maybe she should be disappointed; just a few more steps and she could have coaxed Blake inside her building, but that didn't happen.

As the water washed over her, her mind kept replaying one thing Blake had told her. Well, two things actually.

The first:_ I do love you. I never stopped._

A tingling sensation ran up her spine, neither hot nor cold, when she remembered those words. She shut the water off and grabbed her towel. She risked a smile as she dried herself off then she pulled on her black baby tee and similarly colored panties.

She scooped up Mr. Tumbles from her bedroom, went to the kitchen to pour the last of her wheat and strawberry cereal in a bowl and headed for the living room. She found and flicked on the TV remote. As a _Foreign Power_ car commercial featuring the new Superiore came on, she flopped onto the couch.

She looked at her bear and told him the second important thing Blake had told her.

"He said _when,_" she whispered with a smile. "Not _if_, but _when._" Dice wasn't usually the best person to rely on when it came to paying attention to things, but this time, this time she had.

_When I do accept your offer, it'll be the right way._

He had said it in reference to her not so subtle prodding to come upstairs with her. Blake and she had been friends for a long time and knew each other well; she understood what he meant. It was a promise. 'When' meant that it _would_ happen, if she would be patient. if she would wait just a bit.

The Channel Six announcer cut in, _"We now continue with the second season marathon of Bobby and Amber."_

"Nuh uh," she uttered with a grin as she put her bear in her lap and grabbed up her bowl of dry cereal.

Since leaving this morning, Dice had gotten to kill some Samedi, earned herself an extra two hundred bucks, taken her hot shower, had her best friend in the world tell her he loved her… and now her favorite season of her favorite television show was having a marathon.

"Hah," she mumbled to Mr. Tumbles between happy crunches of her food, "I guess this isn't such a shit day after all."

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah, that just came outta nowhere.<strong>


	20. Ep 3: Retaliation, Part 2

**A/N:**

**Woo-Hoo! My Twentieth Chapter! Thanks to all of my fellow Saints Row Fanfic writers for their support: **_**shadow182angel**_**, **_**High Mage Lady Hawkmoon**_**, **_**ScarletRoses15**_**, **_**HeartWritingM, DoubleH19/Red's Revenge **_**- they write some amazing stories. You should really check out their stuff.**

**Also a thank you to **_**Golden Gecko**_** and **_**crazy-apple94**_** for taking the time to review my stuff - I appreciate it!**

* * *

><p><strong>Warning: Rated M for scenes involving excessive violence, language, and adult content.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Episode 3: Retaliation<strong>

**Part 2**

* * *

><p><strong>Bavogian Plaza, Red Light District, Stilwater<strong>

**Club Koi**

**Thursday, May 05, 2011, 8:13pm**

* * *

><p>Dice chipped at the ice at the bottom of her glass - her small, red plastic straw breaking off small bits which she greedily sucked up through it. After a few moments, she looked up to see Bert staring at her.<p>

"This bothering you?" she asked, chipping away.

"No, not at all," he answered in a sarcastic tone.

"Good," she retorted with a similar tone, as she continued at the ice. "I wasn't done, yet."

"Dice," Artemis admonished. "Quit with the straw."

"Fine." She carefully set the straw down on her napkin, then she smirked and pulled out a switchblade, flicking it open as she did so. Using the blade, she started crushing the ice once again.

"Gross," Bert said. "Isn't that the same knife you stabbed Papa Pants in the foot with? That's nasty!"

Dice grinned evilly. Her eyes narrowed as she ran the blade carefully along her tongue. "Yummy," she said in a low tone. "Extra protein." Bert made a face.

"Stop it," Artemis ordered, then glanced at Bert. "She got a new knife at the _Brass Knuckles_ in Ezpata. Lil Sister drove her old knife in the pimp's foot so hard, she bent the blade."

"Anyway…" Bert tried to ignore her as he focused his attention on Artemis. "He said 'I'll handle it…' when he walked by. That's all she wrote, or said… I guess."

"And no one's seen Dyson since. You don't know what Dyson meant by 'it'?" Artemis asked.

Bert grabbed his beer and took a quick swallow. "Hmmm…" he muttered, putting the beer back down as a look of deep concentration appeared on his face. He stroked his chin lightly, "Let me see if my memory's changed in the last three-and-a-half minutes. Um, no."

"You don't have to be an ass about it, Bert," Dennis said as he took a sip of his beer.

"Dude, that's all he said!" replied Bert indignantly. "I wasn't gonna go all, 'Hey Psycho-Killer Guy! Whatcha all talking about in case my bud Artemis wants ta get all nosy?'"

"What crawled down your panties?" Dice asked.

Dennis smirked. "It's more like what _didn't_ crawl down his panties."

"Huh?"

"Alright, alright," Bert shook his head. "I'm sorry. It's just… aw, man, it's just Carlos."

"Carlos didn't crawl down your panties?" Dice looked confused. "I, uh, didn't know that about you, Bert."

Darcy returned from the restroom and sat down. "What'd I miss?"

"Carlos is trying to crawl down Bert's panties," Dice remarked without looking up.

"What?" Darcy asked as she glanced over at Artemis.

"Not my panties," Bert sighed.

"Tonya's," added Dennis.

"Tonya and Carlos?" Dice's face twisted into an odd look. "Really? When'd that happen?"

"Recently, it seems like," Dennis said, taking another sip.

"Okay, get this shit," Bert said, leaning forward and moving his arms animatedly. "I find out Tonya likes this stupid band, right? The Feed Dogs or some crap. I go and buy these stupid concert tickets for her, right?" He shook his head. "Next thing I know she's all telling Carlos about it and probably setting up to go with him."

"That's why he was muttering under his breath at Pilsen when Carlos showed up to help us with the Samedi," Dennis explained.

Artemis glanced at Bert. "So _that's_ what your problem was." He shook his head.

"Yeah," Bert groused. "Dude needs ta learn his place."

"Like being one of the Boss's top Lieutenants?" Darcy asked with a grin. "You do know he's the one who broke her out of Stilwater Penitentiary, right?"

"So?"

"'So?'" Dennis shook his head. "Man, Carlos got himself shivved just so he could be in the infirmary with her – that's loyalty."

"Hmph," Darcy remarked as she took a sip of her drink. "He did that before any of us were even thinking about joining the Saints – heck, before the Saints even came back." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "If you think about it, we all owe him a debt."

"Oh my Christ," Bert balked. "Yes, he's the greatest guy in the world. He's truly a Saint, in every sense of the word…"

Dice looked up again, mischief in her eyes. "He's kinda cute, too."

"Fuck off, Dice!" Bert growled. "Really, just fuck off!"

"Knock it off, Lil Sister," Artemis told her sternly.

She stopped crushing the last of her ice and put the knife away, looking at Bert as she did so. "He's right. I'm sorry, Bert. I'm being a butt."

Everyone stared at her with surprise, but it was Bert who spoke.

"Bullshit! You're just saying that to set up another joke at my expense."

"Nope," she replied honestly as she folded her hands together. "_'To receive good karma in one's life… one must pay for it in advance._' That's what the Church of Philosotology people say at the _Forgive and Forget_ drive-through confessionals."

"I'm pretty sure they mean they want you to dump some green to 'pay' for your karma," Dennis muttered. "Don't tell us you believe in that rhetoric. Those places are crap."

"Pssh, no!" she exclaimed. "But it never hurts to have good karma waiting for you… and maybe I want a little of that." She looked speculative for a brief moment then announced, "I'm getting another drink! Anyone else want one?"

"You buying?" asked Bert.

She inhaled sharply. "I'll buy yours," she said after a moment.

"Hell, I'll take another beer then," he replied with a grin.

As Dice went to the bar, Darcy leaned forward. "What exactly makes you think Carlos is with Tonya? Not that I gossip much."

"Oh, please," Artemis mumbled into his drink.

"_**Not**_ that I gossip much…" she repeated firmly with a dark look cast at his direction before returning her gaze to Bert, "…but I heard Carlos has kind of a crush on the Boss."

"Stella told me," Bert admitted.

She raised an eyebrow. "Stella? You're kidding me. As in Molly and Stella?"

"Yep."

"They're not the most reliable sources of information."

"Eye-candy's about all those two are good for," Dennis said. "You see one and there's the other. It's like they're connected at the hip." He paused when he said that, then grinned. "Hmmm. Now there's a thought – the two of them connected at the hip." He smacked his lips.

Darcy rolled her eyes as Dice returned and placed a beer in front of Bert.

"Thank ya kindly," Bert smirked.

"So how serious are you about this karma thing?" Artemis inquired.

"Who me?" Dice asked then she narrowed eyes. "Why?"

"Well, I have to find someone to replace Anthony at the _Brown Baggers_ for the next two nights," he replied. "The Brotherhood are somehow blaming both the Samedi and the Saints for the attack on Pilsen and Stammer needs his number two."

Dice sighed deeply and appeared as if she was about to say something. Instead, she closed her eyes, sat upright and interlaced her fingers. A sweet smile appeared as she reopened her eyes. "I'd be more than happy to take Anthony's place guarding the _Brown Baggers_. I am, after all, all about supporting the team."

Bert was mid-way through taking another sip of his beer when he paused at Dice's remark. He quickly glanced over at Artemis. "Man, I've seen rattlesnakes with more friendliness and sincerity than that. You better watch yourself."

"Cuz ya know, livin' in the city of Stilwater, there's just a ton of rattlesnakes that you've seen," Dennis said with a laugh.

"Oh there are," Bert retorted. "They're located at the corner of BiteMe Street and FuckOffDennis Avenue."

Dennis laughed harder.

"Anyway," Artemis said trying to regain control of the conversation, "I'll tell Pierce that we found a sub."

"Who else is gonna be there?" Dice asked.

"Barry, I think."

"Oh I like Barry!" She smiled. "He's got some great stories."

"So do the Brotherhood want war?" Darcy asked, worry written on her face.

"I'm hoping not," Artemis responded. He took a slow sip from his soda. "With police officers like Terwil harassing us and hits from random pimps on the Saints… it's bad enough for us." He looked down. "War with the Sons of Samedi is inevitable – of that I'm certain. But the Brotherhood, too?" He shook his head and looked at his fellow Saints.

They stared back quietly, watching him. They needed hope. They needed reassurance. But mostly they needed the truth.

"I don't honestly know," he admitted. "What we really need is some breathing room. We need space to go and solidify what we have. We need someone to get these guys off of our backs for just a bit." He smirked. "Hell, just having one less enemy to worry about, even if it's for a little while, would be a big help."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunnyvale Gardens, Projects District, Stilwater<strong>

**Thursday, May 5, 2011, 10:41pm**

…

A gold colored Baron pulled onto the parking lot behind the ten-story apartment complex. The tricked out spinners continued to rotate on the wheels even after the classic luxury car came to a halt. The engine shut off and three individuals stepped out.

The first was a large, well-muscled thug in an athletic cut tee and black jeans. The second was a short young man clothed in blue and yellow. The large hat with a blue feather sticking out of it indicated his status as one of Stilwater's many pimps. The final individual was thin and dressed in gold and purple. The thick gold chain he wore supporting a jewel-encrusted stylized 'D' showed that the man (known on the street as Golden D) was the top pimp in this part of Stilwater.

They walked around the building which bore the letters SUNNYVALE GARDENS in large print running down its southern wall. They went through the front entrance and headed toward the eighth floor where the pimps had one of their numerous 'conference rooms'. The building appeared run-down, but it was serviceable enough for their needs. Besides, who would suspect an important meeting would take place here, in such a poor neighborhood.

The pimps had been trying to establish themselves as another gang in Stilwater, as a force to be reckoned with. So far, their attempts had failed miserably. Golden D had called together some of his fellows for a meeting. The unprecedented and wholly unexpected assault on the Third Street Saints by two of their number a few weeks ago still didn't have a satisfactory explanation. Hopefully one could be provided tonight.

As they rode the elevator up, Golden D shook his head. Shit was getting real, as they said. Too real for his liking.

The elevator doors opened and the first thing he noticed was that his guards were not in place where they should be.

"God dammit," Golden D complained. "We s'pose ta meet Greenback and Little T tonight. This is some important shit and those boys be off taking a leak or sumthin'? Well, we gonna see 'bout that." He shook his head as he looked at the large man with him. "Maurice, the door if you please?"

The large man nodded and opened the heavy door. The interior was dark.

"Fuckin' shit!" the lead pimp exclaimed as the three sauntered in. "Jay, where you at? Why the lights be off?"

The lights suddenly came on, surprising the three criminals.

"Because I normally prefer the shadows," a low voice purred from the far end of a large polished wooden table. A figure was seated there, leaning back in a comfortable chair. He was a pale clean-shaven man, with spiky, black hair and wearing a black duster.

His feet were propped up on the table, his black cowboy boots resting on the head of Jay. The blank look on Jay's face and the large amount of blood that had pooled from him onto the table explained why the guard wasn't at his post.

On the floor next to the seated figure was the other guard along with the pimps Greenback and Little T.

The figure followed Golden D's look and pulled his aviator sunglasses down revealing his cornflower blue eyes.

"I advised them not to give me any problems," he said in a low voice. "They decided against my advice and hmmm, look what happened." His eyes flicked back to stare intently at the lead pimp. "I'm going to offer you the same advice – don't give me any problems."

The younger pimp in blue and yellow started backing up. "D, we need ta _go_!" He backpedalled two steps, before another figure (hidden behind the large door as it opened) stepped out, and put the business end of a GDHC.50 against the back of his head.

"Where you goin', _muthafucka_?" the newest arrival, a well-built black woman, growled in his ear.

The dark figure at the end of the table sighed as he took his feet off of Jay, whose body promptly slid onto the floor. He then stood, and took a moment to straighten his duster.

"Do you know who I am?" the man asked.

Golden D nodded. Even without noticing the four letters tattooed on the knuckles of his right hand, even without noticing the twin .44 Shepherds he kept at his hips in black leather holsters each decorated with a purple fleur-de-lis symbol like he was some twisted parody of a cowboy from a bygone era, Golden D knew the man. He was a terror, a killer, a dark legend made flesh. He was…

"Mr. Kind."

"Correct," the man answered.

He stepped up onto the seat of the chair then onto the long table itself. He strolled casually along the table's surface, his head tilted slightly forward to avoid the light on the high ceiling. Getting to the end of the table, he crouched low – his eyes now level with the pimp.

"Do you know why I'm here?" he asked quietly.

"I'ma guess, uh, the attack on youse by uh, some'a the pimps I know… uh, knew."

"Correct again," he said with a smile. "I like you." He leapt off the table and stood to his full height. "You seem to be useful."

"Man, I d'know who you thinkin' you are…" Golden D's bodyguard muttered.

Dyson paused and asked, "Is he one of your pimps?"

"No," Golden D began, "he's my…"

In a blur of movement, Dyson drew one of his revolvers, turned and pulled the trigger.

_**BLAM!**_

The slug impacted the bodyguard square between the eyes, exploding the wall behind him with blood, bone and gore. The body slumped to the floor.

"Compared to you lot," Dyson turned back to the horrified pimps, his voice starting off low, but growing louder as he continued to speak, "…in this city, **I AM FUCKING ROYALTY! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?**"

The two pimps nodded quickly.

"Good." He pulled his aviators off and tucked them in his breast pocket. "I'm giving you one chance to answer correctly: did you send Papa Pants and Two-Tone to attack the Saints?"

"No, man, no," Golden D mumbled. "We was comin' here tonight to talk 'bout it, but you, uh…" He trailed off as he nodded at the bodies littering the floor.

"Who did?"

"We don't know!" he bawled. "Like I said, we was tryin' to figure it out. We don't want war with youse." He hesitated for a moment. "Bad fer bidness, ya know? If Papa Pants an' Two-Tone attacked youse, it wasn't cuz'a us. They was always goin' off doin' stuff on they own."

Dyson stared intently at the pimp for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. Finally, he leaned back with a smile and said, "Know what? I believe you. Which is a good thing." He reached behind him causing both of the pimps to flinch. Rather than a weapon, he pulled out a huge wad of cash.

"This is for the clean-up. Its five grand." He handed the cash to Golden D whose eyes lit up. "Please, don't be so gauche as to count it in front of me – makes me feel like you don't trust my word."

"Oh I trust you!" exclaimed Golden D.

"I'm glad you said that," the Saints' enforcer replied, "because you can trust this: you find out who did send Papa Pants and Two-Tone and let me know, then there'll be ten times that for you."

The pimp's eyes widened even further, a small smile coming to his lips. "I'll let you know, right off!"

"Good, because if you don't, well, then," Dyson smiled. "I may just consider you useless and treat you accordingly." The pimp's smile vanished immediately. Dyson nodded to the woman. "Tamara, let's go."

The woman nodded back and opened the door wide, keeping her gun trained on the pimps as she exited. Dyson followed her out, retrieving his aviators as he did so.

"One more thing," he said, turning on his heel. "You betray the Saints, you try to set us up…" The pimp started to say something, but Dyson held up a finger to silence him. "You try to fuck me… I will turn you into an urban fucking myth, do you understand me?"

"Urban m-myth?"

"Yes," Dyson leaned in close, a sadistic smile on his face. "You try and fuck me, well, when they find your remains… People will be talking about how a monster or some shit got a hold of you." He tapped the side of his head. "Because they won't, with their fragile little minds, be able to accept that one human being could possibly do to another what I will do to you." He paused. "Understand?"

The pimp realized at that moment that he could quite possibly be dealing with a madman.

"Do you understand me?" Dyson asked again, more slowly.

"Yes. Yes, I do," he said quickly.

"Good," the enforcer seemed satisfied. "Well, then gentlemen, do have a good night." He turned and left the room.

When the two Saints finally got on the elevator and headed downstairs, Golden D ran to the bathroom and threw up his supper.

…

Once outside the building, Dyson pulled out his cell as Tamara retrieved the car.

"Boss, it's Dyson," he said with an eerie calm. "The pimps didn't set up the hit, but unfortunately they don't know who did. Either way, they shouldn't be a problem again after our little chat."

He paused then smiled at the Boss' reply.

"See?" he told the Boss as Tamara pulled up. "I told you I'd handle it."

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN: Yeah, Dyson/Mr. Kind isn't as nice as my regular OCs. He has problems playing nicely with others...**


	21. Ep 3: Retaliation, Part 3

**Stupid job! I was really trying to get four chapters posted during the month of June. But alas, work got in the way... again (bleh). Schedule's not looking too good this week either, so I'm kinda surprised I managed to actually get this chapter done.**

**Anyway, meh... here it is.**

* * *

><p><strong>Episode 3: Retaliation<strong>

**Part 3**

* * *

><p><strong>Shivington, Projects District, Stilwater<strong>

**Eddie's Gym, Est. 1967**

**Friday, May 6, 2011, 8:04am**

…

…

_Never try to mimic an opponent's skills,_ Uncle Bill always said. _No matter how much time you train, they've already put in that much time plus some. Rather, try to find the counter to what they do._

Mongrel brought up his right knee against the mid-post of the wooden practice dummy. It was a good blow. Solid. He shifted and tried to loosen up his left shoulder where he had been wounded. It was healing up well, but still a little stiff.

_Figure out what they __**don't**__ do. Practice that. That's the way to beat them._

He repeated the motion turning his arm as he did so, to block where he would assume his imaginary opponent would try to strike with a fist. He turned and angled his body slightly this time bringing his left knee up into the mid-post, practicing the attack from a different direction.

_Study your enemy. Adapt. Counter their movements, and strike._

Mongrel pulled back from the practice dummy and got into a Muay Thai fighting stance. He gauged the distance, calculating his striking range and where his opponent's head and neck would be. He shifted his weight, tensed his muscles and tried to picture an adversary in front of him.

Instead, it was Dice's face that flashed before eyes.

He blinked. He shook his head and resumed his stance. He shifted his weight, tensed his muscles and let fly with an angle kick at the middle of the dummy. He grimaced, not from the pain of striking the wooden post, but from his execution – it was sloppy.

He repeated the motion and liked it better the second time. He nodded as he struck again, this time following the middle angle kick with a quick high one - aiming for his opponent's head. He liked the result even more.

He changed his stance to aim with his left leg this time – going for a low angle kick followed almost immediately after by a middle kick.

They were going to be difficult to beat, his opponents. They seemed so numerous – beat one and another takes his place. They were tough, hard.

_But Dice was soft._ _God, I'd forgotten how soft she is, how good she feels._ The memory of her against him on the lot outside her apartment resurfaced, breaking his momentum.

"Concentrate, you idiot," he berated himself. He swept the memory away.

He hadn't been practicing his kicks enough lately. He was still primarily using his punches. That was foolish. He shook his head.

Mongrel was six foot three and had an impressive arm reach, but his legs… their reach was even greater. He had to utilize his kicks. Not many of his opponents had even tried for kicks – always punching or swinging melee weapons when he fought with them. Maybe he could find a weakness, maybe…

'_We can go talk upstairs if you want to talk,'_ Dice had offered.

"Damn it!" he yelled out to no one as he tried to focus his thoughts.

He turned his attention away from the wooden dummy, grabbing his light-weight open-fingered padded gloves and put them on. He moved to the practice bags. He passed the small 'speed bag' used to hone reflexes and instead moved to face the heavy bag to practice his power punching. He needed to work off some energy, to clear his mind.

He tried a few quick light taps to gauge himself. His arms seemed loose, ready. He began.

Circling the bag slowly, he threw some quick jabs.

He'd wanted to go up with her, he should have, but he didn't.

His blows increased in intensity.

_I want it to be right with her. She deserves someone good in her life. Someone that won't take her for granted, that'll treat her decent._

His punches became stronger, more solid.

_I told her I loved her, but what if I fail her, like I failed my family. I can't let her down. Damn it, I should never have said that to her._

He turned into a spinning backfist and smashed side-ways into the bag.

_And this anger that I have, when I lose control. What if…_

He slammed his fists repeatedly into the bag, jostling it.

_What if I hurt __**her**__?_

He punched into the training bag as hard as he could, over and over, throwing in a random side kick for good measure.

"Shit!" he screamed landing another powerful blow as his frustration mounted. "Shit, shit, Shit!"

He grabbed the bag and leaned on it, his body starting to tire. He stayed that way for a moment until a slight creak from behind warned him of another's presence. He spun about quickly, dropping into a low, combat stance.

"Whoa!" the intruder called out, holding up her hands. "Just comin' to practice a bit, Blake."

He recognized the newcomer – it was Spade. This time instead of the usual hip-hugger jeans and low-cut tops she liked to wear, she was wearing a black pair of women's hot track pants and a small black sports bra/tank top. The outfit accentuated her curves even more than usual.

"Guess you learned that bag who's boss, huh?" She smirked as she dropped her gym bag and pulled out a scrunchie.

"How'd you get in here?" he asked, relaxing his stance. "This place doesn't open for another hour."

"I could ask you the same thing," she said, scraping her dark, wavy hair back into a ponytail.

"My uncle used to serve in the military with Eddie Kinneson, the owner. He brought me to Eddie's place when I was younger. I've trained here since I was eleven. Eddie always lets me in." He then asked, "What about you? How'd you get let in here?"

With a mischievous grin Spade took a step back and showed off her figure. "Um, hello? I look like this." She put her hands on her hips with a laugh. "And with this much skin showing, yeah, I can get pretty much anything."

Mongrel turned back to the punching bag, a wry smirk on his face. "Good to see you're not too arrogant or anything there, Alice."

"Arrogance is thinking you're better than other people," Spade commented as she stepped onto the wrestling mat near the west wall. "Knowing you're better is something else… and let's just say that I'm quite knowledgeable about myself."

Mongrel rolled his eyes as he hit the bag with a three punch combo. "Why're you here so early?" he asked, although he had an idea. "You usually sleep later than Dice does."

"Hmmm, funny you should mention Dice there," she responded, as she loosened her neck and shoulders. "You've got some explaining to do Mister Blake Randall Thomas."

_Here we go,_ he thought with a sigh_. Alice only uses your full name when there's going to be a long or difficult discussion_.

Spade started hopping back and forth from one foot to the other. "C'mon, now, pretty-boy!" she called out to him. "Time to get your game on! Time to bring it!"

"Alice, I don't want to do this."

"What's that?" she called out again. "You afraid of a girl? You afraid I might kick your ass?" She laughed lightly. "You should be, bitch! I've been studying Tae Kwon Do as well as a few other moves. Whatcha gotta say ta that, hmmm?"

He turned slowly and stood up to his full height. After a moment he said, "I was originally trained in Greco-Roman wrestling to build up strength with my hands and grip. My uncle also taught me Modern Army Combatives hand-to-hand techniques used by the military. Since my dealings with the Samedi I wanted something to balance myself against their Capoeira-style of combat, so I've recently been studying elements of Muay Thai fighting as well as trying to work in different techniques of Brazilian jujitsu to give me better speed and agility. I was thinking about incorporating some Jeet Kune Do as well, but haven't had time to work on that yet." He paused and shrugged. "That's about it."

Spade stood still for a moment, blinking. Finally she said, "Oh, um, is that all." She didn't sound quite so sure of herself anymore. "Well, then uh, I guess I'll go easy on you then."

He shook his head as he walked over to the wrestling mat. He sighed deeply and then mumbled, "Whatever, it'll be your funeral."

Mongrel stood in an upright Muay Thai stance and slowly moved in on his opponent. As he got close, Spade attempted and connected with a quick low leg kick to his inside left calf.

"First strike to Spade!" she yelled out in a mock voiceover like the announcers on combat video games.

"Not bad," he admitted. "Pretty quick, I'll give you that."

The girl smiled. "You forget how badass I am." She moved in quickly and again connected with an inside leg kick. "I got your combat ability, I got Artemis' shooting ability, and I'm a better driver than Bert." She grinned as she came in again. "I gots me some mad skills!"

She made as if to kick low again, but at the last second came in with a powerful left cross that he barely blocked. Even so, there was a decent amount of strength behind the blow.

"Super-girl Punch!" she yelled.

"It's actually called Super-man Punch, or Cobra Punch in Muay Thai," he corrected.

"I'm not a man, in case you didn't notice," she said with a grin. "Nor have I studied Muay Thai."

"It's also something you don't study in basic Tai Kwon Do either," he remarked with surprise.

"Huh, really?" she responded with a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she moved in once more. She made to kick low again, but feinted at the last second, instead throwing her weight to her other leg and catching Mongrel in the side with a strong mid-kick.

"Full Point," she mimicked the video game announcer again.

Mongrel backed up and regarded his bouncing opponent with new respect. He remembered when he first met her – back when Dice, Kat, and she let him hang with the Casino Queens nearly three years ago. He taught her some of his moves back then. She had apparently remembered them well - and then some.

"You've seemed to have improved since last we spared," he voiced his thoughts. "Pretty good."

"I always was the baddest and the toughest of the Casino Queens, little man," she said. "Or did you forget that?"

"Alright then," he responded. "This could be fun." He changed his stance.

"Really, Blake?" she grimaced. "Southpaw stance? You aren't left-handed, so you aren't gonna fool me."

"How'd you…?" he began, surprise written on his face, but she came in at him again.

"Hyat!" she screamed as she kicked quickly at his section again. He was barely able to dodge the blow. "Hyat! Hyat!" Two more quick kicks came in. The first caught him on the inner thigh again, but he was able to block the last one.

"I told you – I'm the baddest ass Casino Queen," she growled. She threw a quick-snap kick at his head.

The movement was so unexpected that he pulled his head back and lashed out with his fist full strength into her shin.

"Ow, fuck!" she screamed, dropping back. "Alright, time!" She went to a knee. "Okay, that really fucking hurt!" She started rubbing the offending area.

"You okay?" he asked with concern.

"Yeah, but you're a moose!" she laughed. "What are you three hundred pounds of meat?"

"Um, no, I only weigh about two hundred, maybe two-oh-five."

"Well, you're fucking strong is all I'm saying."

He held a hand out to her. "Okay, why are you really here?"

She smirked as he pulled her up. "Who me? Just checking on my two favorite people."

"Being nosy's more like it," he sighed. "Dice told you what happened, didn't she?"

"Babe, Dice tells me everything," she admitted. "Remember about two years ago when she talked you into breaking into Stilwater U's pool at night? And what happened in the jacuzzi afterwards? Yeah, she told me about that, too."

Mongrel actually looked embarrassed. "Um, okay then, um…"

"Look," Spade interjected, "this isn't a scripted TV show where I know just the right thing to say, but I will say this: you and Dice, you guys are my best buds… I mean I love you guys like family. Like _my_ family." She took a step back before continuing.

"You two, well, you've been dancing around this whole thing for too fucking long." She looked him straight in the eyes. "Do you love her? I mean really, seriously love her?"

He hesitated as he searched for an answer.

"No!" she admonished. "Don't think about the correct words or tone or whatever the fuck. Do you or not?"

"Yes," he spoke quietly. "I do. I thought I could just, I don't know… 'admire her from a distance' but…"

"I don't need ta know that you're a stalker freak," she mumbled.

"I'm not!"

"God, I'm kidding." She shook her head. "That's the problem with you two. You're both so damn afraid that you _might_ fuck shit up, that you're just _gonna_ fuck shit up."

"But she deserves someone that's better than me."

"No, no!" Spade waggled finger at him. "Don't give me the whole she's 'a broken innocent person' story. I love her to death, but Dice is far from innocent. Has she had shit happen to her? Yeah, maybe, she has. Maybe even worse than a lot of others, but she is by no means innocent."

Mongrel eyes narrowed. "That's not very fair."

"Oh really?" She put her hands on her hips. "Dice is selfish and whiny about everything. She's been in two gangs. She's stolen. She's killed people – remorselessly. She used to do drugs. She's a shit-disturber."

"Now look…" His voice took on an angry tone.

"Look at what? Have you done half the shit she has?"

"I've killed people. And other stuff."

"Blake Randall Thomas, answer me honestly. Have you done as much shit as she has?"

He was quiet for a moment. Hanging his head, he muttered, "Probably not. I'm not one hundred percent…"

"Oh please," she groused. "Have you?"

"No, probably not," he admitted dejectedly.

"And you still think she's a good person. Good enough to be with?"

"Yes," he answered without hesitation. "I honestly do."

Spade walked up to him, getting within a few inches and stared hard into his eyes. "Then if she's still good enough to be with, even after doing worse shit then you… Then why the FUCK don't you think you're good enough for her, hmmm?" She shook her head again. "If anything, she's the lucky one. Most people would kill to have someone like you, someone so much better than them, so much more deserving than them…" She sighed then went over to her gym bag.

"Ya know," she continued, "my sister Sharon was killed over six years ago in a hit-and-run by that Westside gang, uh, the Rollerz I think they were called? Anyway, my mom couldn't deal with it, so she bailed on dad and me." She paused for a moment. "Useless bitch. Anyway, dad blamed himself and well, being a selfish prick… he, uh, yeah, he blew what little brains he had all over our nice kitchen decor."

She smiled humorlessly.

"The Casino Queens, well they were all I had, ya know? And well, Kat, she was leader and all." She looked down for a second and chuckled a moment. "Kat, she was a bitch. Well, could be a bitch. But she had her moments." She sniffed a little and looked back up at him, her eyes slightly glistening. "But I loved her." She nodded. "I loved her like nobody's business. And, I always thought… well, hoped really, that she loved me back just as much. But I never said anything. For years, I did _nothing_." She closed her eyes.

"You don't have to tell me…" he started, but she cut him off.

"Look," she opened her eyes again and looked at him. "I wasted time, a lot of time _not_ doing anything. Then, she became pregnant. Well, you know, you were hanging around then. And we argued. I mean hell, she didn't even remember the guy, so it wasn't like there was a relationship or anything. Then she… then she killed herself." She got quiet and her gaze became unfocused as regret showed clearly on her face.

"Alice…"

She pulled the scrunchie from her hair and put it in her gym bag. "Don't waste time _not_ doing anything is all I'm saying. Ya never know what'll happen, who you'll lose, or when." She smirked as she picked up her bag and turned to leave.

"Wait, you don't have to go, Alice," he called out to her.

"I'm not in a fun mood any more, Blake," she muttered. Then looked back at him one last time. "I know Dice loves you a lot, even if she's never said it. You just need to… to man up, buddy." She smirked again before turning away. "Take a chance. Do something about it. Don't be a pussy coward. Like I was."

Not knowing what to say, he watched as she solemnly left the gym.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: yay, more drama (said sarcastically).**

**Anywhosits, the crime/violence portion of our little fic is getting ready to rear its ugly head again pretty soon. Wonder what's gonna happen next?**


	22. Ep 3: Retaliation, Part 4

**A/N****:**

**Yep, I'm actually back and this is actually another chapter you're reading. Couple of things first, though.**

**I wish to apologize for just kinda disappearing for, oh a friggin' month or so. Work got crazy busy and then to compound problems I had a few health issues (which are hopefully (?) resolved now – though I am in the recovery stages at the moment). I was still around, but more in a lurker/reader capacity.**

**Also, I wish to thank my fellow FF readers and FF writers for your support and patience – I appreciate it greatly.**

**Finally, I changed up this next chap – sorta stretching the ol' writing muscles as it were. I focused on the Samedi this time around – both to reiterate some of the characters that may have been forgotten about (since it's been forever since I posted anything) as well as give a look into the dealings of the Saints' current antagonists.**

**Fear not, our favorite violet-attired anti-heroes/criminals will be center stage next chap.**

**Also, the very last part of this chap is based off of the cutscene 'Clam Baking'. You may want to reference that scene.**

**Ok, enough rambling…**

* * *

><p><strong>Episode 3: Retaliation<strong>

**Part 4**

* * *

><p><strong>The Mills, Factories District, Stilwater<strong>

**Tallen Meats Slaughterhouse**

**Friday, May 6, 2011, 10:46pm**

* * *

><p>"It seems we're the last to arrive, Mr. San-Pierre."<p>

The minor Samedi lieutenant glanced out of the window of the green Status Quo at the statement of Jaqual, his bodyguard. Illuminated by the outside lights of the meat packing plant were six other vehicles. As the limo pulled into an empty space, Jean San-Pierre recognized some of the cars.

The three Danvilles may have been anybody's, but the heavy reinforced Churchill could only be the Jamaican's. The decrepit Nordberg was owned by one of the leaders of the Stilwater Biker Club trying to ally with the Samedi. Finally, he noticed the green and black Compton that belonged to his rival, Taibot. He smiled to himself - he had been looking forward to meeting up with Taibot again.

San-Pierre's plan to capture the Third Street Saint named Artemis had failed, but his other plans had worked, particularly in the Factories District. Along with the new items in his briefcase that he had been working on, he was certain that his standing within the Sons of Samedi could do nothing but rise.

_Yes_, he thought, _this will be a fun night._

…

…

The heavy, coppery tang of blood permeated the thick, damp air as San-Pierre and his soldiers entered the lower level of the slaughterhouse. Though he knew Jaqual did not approve of meeting in such a place, his bodyguard said nothing. Micas, however, seemed excited to be here.

Micas was one of San-Pierre's best soldiers and his most trusted man behind Jaqual. The muscular black man was easily distinguishable – he had dark beady eyes, close cropped hair, a scruffy goatee and a green skull with white teeth tattooed on his left cheek. Micas was also an active practitioner of the voodoo rituals of Mr. Sunshine. He was San-Pierre's link to the Sons of Samedi's second in command.

The Tallen Meats Slaughterhouse had recently been converted to Mr. Sunshine's base of power and a far upper room in the second building had been turned into his 'office'/altar room. Mr. Sunshine was not supposed to be at this meeting, but the Magic Man, Mr. Sunshine's chief priest in service to the Loa (the Vodun spirits), was rumored to be in attendance.

One of San-Pierre's strengths, at least as he'd like to believe it, was his ability to be open-minded when it came to how the Samedi should interact with the city of Stilwater.

Some of the Samedi lieutenants believed that the Loa were the centralizing focus of the gang – that all of the gang's resources should be used to spread the word of Baron Samedi himself and broaden his following. To him, that sounded too much like a cult, and one of the things that the civilians of the world liked more than anything else was stamping out a religious cult that opposed whatever religion they believed in.

Others in the Sons' hierarchy wanted to handle everything as a military action: crush the opposition, strengthen what they had and dig the defenses in deep before moving to the next objective. Unfortunately, the Sons of Samedi specialized in running drugs - Loa Dust in particular. This meant the gang's biggest supporters were drug-users. In addition, several of the gang's members had broken a cardinal rule of the criminal life: Never get hooked on your own product. Therefore, the ability of each individual gang member was always in question – the drugs rarely letting one reach their full potential.

San-Pierre, however, liked to compromise. He was all for crushing the opposition – removing those who held what the Samedi wished to control. However, rather than sacrifice good loyal soldiers in such endeavors, he sought to make use of the weaker elements of Stilwater's criminal population. Addicts, prostitutes, pimps, those that petitioned for inclusion of the gang but failed, even… he grinned to himself… even Taibot's allies of the little Bike Club.

Have the other gangs waste their resources, their people, and their ammunition on these lesser players. Yes, it was necessary to have _some_ Samedi present for guidance, but the rank-and-file should be populated by these low-life scum. And why not fan the beliefs of those who find comfort in the embrace of Baron Samedi? After all, what is more unshakably loyal than a fanatic? Add some Loa Dust to the mix and you have a drugged out zealot willing to do whatever is asked of him.

As they ascended the stairs to the second floor, the instrumental drumming of steelpans could be heard over the heavy machinery. San-Pierre and his men followed the echoes of the Caribbean beat past the plant's cafeteria to the end of a walkway guarded by a pair of Samedi thugs who bowed low to the higher ranking gang members and let them pass unmolested.

Symbols of the Samedi's gang signs were painted on the walls, and fetishes were tucked in the upper corners. Near one of the hanging light fixtures dangled a cobweb. How did this place pass inspection, he wondered.

A long table had been placed at the end of the walkway – his fellow lieutenants seated around it. Across an open area, near what appeared to be some type of altar and a high-backed chair, was the source of the music.

A young white girl in her late teens, maybe as old as twenty, was playing double tenor steelpans. She was an attractive little thing, her long light blonde hair braided and decorated with green and white beads tied at the ends. San-Pierre recognized her – she was one of the newer recruits apprenticed to learn the ways of the Loa. She went by the name of Knickers (matching the old-style tan-colored pants she wore) and as she played the steel drums, she looked over with a wink and a smile at a young, dark haired boy that stood nearby watching her.

"Ah, young love… how droll," San-Pierre mumbled to himself. Still, her skills with both the instrument – and from what he understood, the interpretation of the Loa spirits – were beyond question. She was one of Mr. Sunshine's favorite pupils and a fast riser within the gang.

Turning his attention back to the table, San-Pierre smiled as he approached the vacant chair awaiting him, the dreary atmosphere doing nothing to dampen his spirits. With a flourish, the well-dressed Samedi took his seat.

"Ah, a fine evening isn't it?" San-Pierre called out, a twinkle in his eye as his scooted his chair closer to the table. Micas and Jaqual took up positions behind him.

"You are late," the Jamaican grimaced. Of the minor lieutenants assembled tonight, the tall and wiry Samedi that addressed him now was the highest ranked – and probably the most individually dangerous. He was a master of Capoeira and the personal bodyguard (sometimes even the chauffer) of the General. He was also a man that shouldn't be crossed or toyed with, but sometimes San-Pierre just couldn't help himself.

"Am I?" San-Pierre asked as he reached into the lower pocket of his vest. He retrieved a black and silver pocket watch and made a big showing of looking at the time.

"Do not test my patience tonight, San-Pierre," the Jamaican warned.

He smiled. "I apologize to my fellow Samedi for my apparently late arrival." He put away his pocket-watch and got right to business. "The plan I'd devised to take over the Factories District from the Brotherhood worked well enough, but I hadn't foreseen the interference of the Saints." He leaned forward. "Though admittedly we do control both the Mills and the Pilsen Neighborhoods now, correct? The Saints didn't claim them after routing our men?"

The Jamaican glowered at him; San-Pierre's often flippant attitude irritated the higher ranking gang member, but the results of his endeavors couldn't be ignored. However, it was the Magic Man who replied.

"I don'a be tinkin' dey knew ya men wiped out alla da Brudderhood dere," the Samedi priest said. Of all of the Samedi leaders present, the Magic Man was the only one that San-Pierre could completely count on as an ally. The short, bent dark-skinned man had Vodun symbols painted on his cheeks, bare chest and forearms and stared at the assemblage out of his one good eye. His left eye, as well as most of the left side of his face seemed to have been burned horribly, the skin twisted and melted. His grim appearance only added to the rumors of his mystical power.

"Da Saints pro'ly be tinkin' da Brudderhood be takin' da place back, is wat I'm a-sayin'," the Magic Man continued. "Ya men snuck in an' took da territory away den." He made a snatching motion with his hand. "It be da will of Baron Samedi." The priest leaned in towards San-Pierre. "He be blessin' ya is wat I'm a-tinkin'."

San-Pierre smiled to himself. Having the blessings of the Haitian voodoo spirit for which their gang was named _and_ having said blessing vocalized by the second most powerful practitioner in Stilwater was the best street cred he could possibly have – at least among those present.

"Yes," the Jamaican agreed, somewhat reluctantly. "We have the Factories District now thanks to your efforts." He took a deep breath. "The General wishes to express his gratitude for that."

San-Pierre humbly nodded while beaming on the inside.

"Now," the Jamaican continued, "as to the rest of the General's plans. There are to be some slight adjustments." The Jamaican nodded to a pair of individuals that had stood quietly off to the side during the course of the meeting. They approached at the signal. "Teege and Darco," he indicated the two capable looking black men, "have been in charge of the General's territory in the Elysian Fields Trailer Park. Tomorrow they will be part of an attack on the leader of the Saints herself." The two men straightened slightly at the statement – obviously proud of the part they were going to play.

San-Pierre was perplexed. "I thought the attack was to happen after Shivington was retaken…" he began, but the Jamaican cut him off.

"The General believes Shivington will be easier to retake with the removal of both the Saints' leader and the Saints' main hideout," the Jamaican explained with a grin. "Your capture of the Brotherhood's territories was quick and decisive, giving us room to breathe. Plus, the arrogant bitch that heads the Third Street Saints does little to hide her movements; I was able to determine her daily patterns easily."

"So… the Saints' headquarters…" San-Pierre started.

"Is located below the run-down mission in Bavogian Plaza," the Jamaican finished with a smirk. "It's next to Old Stilwater that we lost to the Saints last year."

San-Pierre sat back rubbing his chin in thought. "The alterations to the plan…" he wondered aloud.

"The General wants a face-to-face with the Saints' leader," the Jamaican told his comrades. "More than likely, it will end in her demise. Teege and Darco will assist with her capture. After she is dead, Taibot will send his men in." At this the Jamaican indicated the solidly built black man, who had remained quiet during the course of the meeting thus far. "Are they ready?" he asked.

Taibot nodded sullenly and turned to look at the men seated next to him. He didn't have much enthusiasm as his efforts to keep Shivington under Samedi rule were less than successful. He indicated his right hand man, Mance, a six foot tall individual with unwashed brown hair and glassy eyes. He was pock-marked and had a bad skin condition.

"Mance will go with da Stilwater Biker Gang," Taibot quietly explained. He then gestured to two men who were dressed in leather jackets. One was an older man, with graying hair tied back in a ponytail; the other had dark hair and a beard. Both were of an impressive size - large and muscled. "Skeeve will lead his men with his number two, Harley."

"What about cover?" the Jamaican, ever the soldier, inquired.

"I gotta man," the grey haired man spoke in a respectful tone. "Name's Marty. Good with a rifle; ex-military. Gonna position him across the parking lot with a McManus."

"What about Gressor?" the Jamaican indicated Taibot's last soldier, a tall thin man with curly brown hair.

"He's still hurt from the fight at Shivington," Taibot said quietly. "His knee still needs time ta heal up."

The Jamaican didn't look pleased and began to speak.

"If I may," San-Pierre interjected. Everyone's attention focused on him – just as he preferred it. "I have a suggestion." With a twinkle in his eye, he continued. "My man, Micas, is familiar with the situation. I know of Gressor's injury and am prepared to substitute Micas for him." He paused. "He is quite capable and ready to go."

The Jamaican glared at him for a moment before asking, "Why would you do this?"

San-Pierre grinned. "Because I have been harsh on my fellow Son before." He indicated Taibot. "We are in this together – all of the Samedi. Micas will help but will not take over. Give him whatever instructions you will and he will follow them." He paused dramatically. "Is it not the will of the General… and Baron Samedi… for us to succeed?"

…

…

The meeting was over and the Jamaican, Taibot, and their men had already left. As the young girl, Knickers played a low, mesmerizing beat on the steelpans, the Magic Man limped over to San-Pierre and handed him a cup filled with a dark brew.

"Wat was it ya were a-sayin' _'Is it not the will of the General… and Baron Samedi… for us to succeed?'_" the bent man said with a cackle.

"A bit much?" San-Pierre grinned, an eyebrow cocked.

"Why ya really doin' it, huh?" the scarred priest inquired. "Ya always be gotten an angle… wat is it bein' dis time?"

San-Pierre took a sip of the concoction and grimaced. Shaking his head, he set the drink down before explaining. "Taibot's already in trouble with the General and needs to prove himself soon. The attack on the Saints' hideout is what the General will base his decision off of. If it goes poorly, then Taibot may well be removed from power; he is, after all responsible for the attack no matter what. However, if he succeeds, his status will be restored."

"Den why offer da service of ya man? Is he on ya bad side or somethin'?"

San-Pierre's smile broadened. "No, Micas is capable enough and he will help if possible." He took a deep breath before continuing. "Taibot has a way of lucking out of things and it's possible for him to pull off a successful attack. If he does, well, Micas will be there… and of course…" he trailed off.

The Magic Man cackled again as he lit up a pipe. "And Taibot won't be a-succeedin' without ya man's aid! Taibot loses it's his fault, but if he's a-winnin' den it's because a you! Hah! Ya be a devious one fo' sure."

"Speaking of which..." San-Pierre reached over and grabbed the briefcase he had put aside earlier. He set it on the table and flipped the latches. He opened it and pulled out two voodoo dolls, handing one immediately over to the voodoo priest.

"Wat's dis den?" he asked.

"The gift I promised you," San-Pierre admitted. He flipped the doll he still held over and opened a small velcroed area on its back. Inside was a tiny dart gun fixed so that the trigger was hidden in the body and could be activated by pulling the doll's arm or leg. The muzzle was positioned to fire the projectile through a small slit just below the doll's neck.

"In my experience, when it comes to voodoo, belief is power," San-Pierre continued as he grabbed two cartridges out of the briefcase. He loaded one into the doll-gun he had and handed the other over to the voodoo priest. "These micro-darts are coated with a powerful mixture I had a contact of mine cook-up. A paralytic agent mixed with a delayed dose of concentrated Loa dust." He cocked the chamber on the dart gun and sealed the back of the doll up again.

"When used properly…" The Samedi aimed the doll at the wall and triggered the gun. A light _**-pfftt- **_sounded along with a small dust cloud that seemed to emanate from the doll's face. A tiny steel shard shot out and impaled itself into the wooden wall. "The victim will get hit by a combination of the two drugs. Each dosage is slightly different – so the effects will always be random. Sometimes the victim could lose the use of a limb… sometimes the Loa Dust will take full effect. The best would be an equal dosage of both."

The priest grinned. "But in any form, da results be da same. Power and fear from da use of da voodoo doll!" He nodded his head in approval. "Dey be a-believin' when dey see da power of da dolls first hand, eh?"

"That's the plan."

"Ya truly be-a dangerous man, ya know dat?"

The music stopped abruptly.

"Knickers!" came a cry from the young dark-haired man. The priest and the Samedi lieutenant turned at the sound and stared at the girl who had fallen to her knees. She was holding her head and groaning loudly.

"Child!" the Magic Man called out as he quickly limped to his fallen apprentice. Perplexed, San-Pierre followed.

"It won't work," the girl muttered quietly then she sobbed painfully.

"Wat is not workin', girl?" the bent priest asked with concern.

The girl turned her head and stared with intensity towards San-Pierre. "The man of reflection…" She held out one hand, fingers spread apart, and then the other, fingers similarly spread. She slowly moved her hands together. "The mirrored man… the man of reflection… one side like the other… he will ruin your plans… unless you kill him first."

San-Pierre glanced at the priest who returned his look for a moment before both turned back to the girl.

"And another one will come… the dark one," she said and a look of terror filled her eyes. "He will… he will burn the Samedi down… and laugh at their suffering… And then…" She clasped a hand over her mouth as tears came unbidden. "He bows knee to but one woman. He is her hound. He will find where our master dwells; he will sniff him out and tell his mistress whom he bows before. Because of him she will be able to seek out our master out and destroy him - all because the dark one found out."

"Who is this, child? Who will burn the Samedi down?" the bent Samedi pressed.

"The broken man… the bitter one… the son of Hate. He who is feared as a monster by all, yet called _**Kind**_ by his fellows." A shudder went through the girl and she fell limply to the ground.

"The fuck?" was all San-Pierre could say.

"Darien," the bent priest ordered the young dark haired man. "Take her ta lie down. She need ta be a-restin'." The young man nodded, lifted the girl's still form and carried her out of the room.

"That had better not have been for my benefit," the Samedi lieutenant groused.

"It was not, friend," the priest admitted, then he stared fully at San-Pierre. "Whether ya be believin' it or not, the Loa exist." The other man started to say something, but the Magic Man cut him off. "It is best not ta question the Loa, but merely try ta be interpretin' dere message."

"Well, I'll leave that to you," San-Pierre muttered. His confidence was shaken a bit by the girl's strange warning and he decided now was as good a time as any to take his leave.

San-Pierre left the priest with a nod and sought out Jaqual and Micas who had been patiently waiting down below. As they headed to the limo, Jaqual noticed his leader's demeanor.

"Are you alright, sir?" the well-dressed bodyguard inquired. "Is anything wrong?"

"Hmmm, no," he replied, lost in thought. He paused a moment then shook his head to rouse himself back to the tasks at hand. ""No, everything is fine… or will be when the leader of the Third Street Saints is dealt with tomorrow."

* * *

><p><strong>Ultor Dome, Arena District<strong>

**Saturday, May 7, 2011, 10:41am**

…

The Hounfor, the heavily armored and nigh invincible custom limousine of the Sons of Samedi, prowled the streets around the Ultor Dome. It was on the hunt, awaiting its prey to come into the open.

It seemed that every Saturday morning, the leader of the Third Street Saints came to the Dome and participated in the fight club games that took place there. One of the Samedi's informants had seen her leaving and informed the Jamaican immediately. The Hounfor was sent to the location straight away.

The Jamaican drove while the General, Mr. Sunshine, Teege and Darco rode in the back.

As the vehicle approached the northeast corner of the neighborhood, the General stared out of the mirrored windows. Dressed immaculately as ever in his custom white suit, he allowed himself a smile. It was a good day for murder.

"There she is," Mr. Sunshine announced as the vehicle turned south.

The General followed his second-in-command's gaze and saw her. He nodded as he pressed a button on his chair. "Pull over now, my friend," he ordered the Jamaican through the intercom.

The vehicle screeched to a halt as the leader of the Third Street Saints headed towards the _DDT Unlimited_ electronics store.

"Now!" the General ordered his men.

Teege charged out of the open door and ran up to his adversary, but she had been alerted to their presence by the sound of the limo's approach. Teege attempted a right hook, but the woman quickly blocked the blow and countered with a jab to Teege's stomach doubling him over. She clasped her fists together and smashed them onto his back, driving him to the ground.

Without a moment's hesitation, she drew an NR4 and aimed it at the back of her opponent's head. However, Darco came to the rescue.

Rushing forward, Darco smashed a baseball bat down upon her pistol, then swung upward, catching her square in the middle of the forehead. She fell backwards onto the hard concrete and immediately went unconscious.

It almost seemed _**too**_ easy.

Teege regained his feet and along with Darco carried the limp figure into the limo. A signal from the General had the Hounfor moving almost immediately again, leaving the few witnesses present to ponder the fate of the young woman.

As the vehicle drove south, the General lit a cigar as he regarded his silent passenger. She was a tall, athletic woman of mixed Chinese and American heritage. Her long hair was currently pulled back in a high ponytail, its natural dark color highlighted with neon purple tips. Her features were soft and her lips full. She was attractive he had to admit to himself, but a bit too thin for his liking – he preferred his women a bit more full-bodied. Still, he wouldn't throw her out of bed.

Taibot and his men were poised to attack at the Saints' hide-out, but before issuing the order to strike, the General wanted to speak with his nemesis.

Mr. Sunshine looked at the General, who nodded back in return. The voodoo worshipper turned back to the young woman and raised his scepter – a wooden shaft topped with a skull and ending with a spike on the bottom. He pressed a button right below the skull and a concentrated blast of Loa Dust poured forth from the eye-sockets of the skull. He waved the scepter in front of the woman.

"Wakey wakey," Mr. Sunshine chided as the woman began to stir, inhaling the fumes of the Loa Dust.

"Where am I?" the Saints' leader slurred as she rubbed her eyes and attempted to look around.

The General leaned forward in his seat and said, "You are sitting with your betters, my friend." He waved his cigar in her direction. "I wanted to see the face of the individual who had caused me so much trouble…" He leaned back with contempt. "So far, I find the experience to be underwhelming…"

"Who the fuck are you?" she demanded out the side of her face.

His shoulders straightened and he sat up regally – presenting every bit the leader that the Samedi believed him to be. "I am the man whose property you stole and destroyed…"

"Oops." She giggled as she leaned back, lightly punching Teege in the arm as if he were a long time friend. The Loa Dust was obviously taking effect.

"You needn't dwell on your mistakes," the General off-handedly remarked as he shook his head. "You will not live to learn from them."

It was the woman's turn to lean back with contempt. "That so?"

"I'm afraid it is," Mr. Sunshine admitted.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"They call me Mr. Sunshine." He leaned back with pride.

"Well, listen _Sunshine_," she slurred as she leaned forward again. "I don't care how fucked up your face is…" She punctuated her words by waving her hands in front of her face in a silly pantomime that indicated how little she was impressed by the pair. "I ain't scared of you or that other asshole."

"Pity," Mr. Sunshine said with a shake of his head.

Bored with his insolent 'guest's' behavior, the General nodded to Teege and Darco. "Gentlemen, I'm through meeting with my adversary…if you please, dispose of this trash."

"Of course, General," Darco replied.

"You're a General?" she asked with a laugh. She looked over at Teege and patted him on the shoulder. "Did you hear that? This asshole thinks he's a…SHIT!" The last was said as Teege pulled out a pistol to shoot her. However, the Saints' leader would not go down so easily a second time.

The woman grabbed the pistol and wrestled for control as Teege fired off two rounds, blowing holes through the limo's side, allowing smoke to trail out. She smashed him in the face with her right elbow and turned to face Darco as he pulled his own pistol.

The woman ducked and then leaned back, trapping Darco's right arm behind her back as he fired off a round. The bullet caught Teege in the side of the head, and the Samedi slumped forward, dead.

The woman snatched Teege's pistol and twisted it up under Darco's chin as he attempted to pull his arm out from behind her.

_**BLAM!**_

Darco's brain splattered all over the limo's ceiling.

Mr. Sunshine pulled his own pistol and fired twice as the woman leaned hard to her right. The bullets slammed into the leather cushion behind her. Using Teege's body as cover, she fired at Mr. Sunshine hitting him twice, once in the right arm and once in the shoulder.

Before the voodoo priest could recover, she flipped the release of the limo's rear passenger-side door. As Mr. Sunshine turned to face her again, she shoved Teege's body forward and leapt from the vehicle using the dead Samedi to cushion her fall.

The sudden emergence of two people from the back of the speeding limo caused the cars behind them to turn aside to avoid hitting them. They created a traffic jam and effectively cut the leader of the Saints off from any further attacks from the General and his men.

Angered, the Samedi leader slammed his fist down on the intercom connecting him with the Jamaican up front.

"Order the attack on the Saints!" he screamed. "I want them all dead!"

"Yes, General!" came the quick reply.

The General leaned forward. "Are you alright, my friend?" he asked his right hand man – genuine concern in his voice.

"I will be, General," his second grimaced with a nod. "But the leader of the Saints…"

"Gone for now," the General admitted with a scowl. "But soon her precious followers will all be dead." He nodded as a cruel smirk twisted his lips. "Without her gang, that woman will be nothing."

* * *

><p><span><strong>AN****: Hmmm… I wonder what will happen next (as if we didn't know)?**


	23. Ep 3: Retaliation, Part 5

**Hey guys! My biggest chapter yet!**

**I have sorta a junky schedule tomorrow, thus I'm rushing this chapter out before fully reworking it. **

**Also, this chapter is based off of the SR2 Mission: **_**Bad Trip**_**, which appears to be one of a lot of people's favorite missions (it was for me as well). So my nervousness at doing this justice as well as a bit of a rush-job may have resulted in a less than perfect chap.**

**If so, I apologize.**

**I have received some great advice on my actions scenes, most notably from **_**shadow182angel**_** (whose version of Bad Trip is probably my favorite on FF), **_**High Mage Lady Hawkmoon**_** (who beta'd a lot of this for chap for me) and **_**Harold3456**_**. I know I didn't implement everything you guys recommended and it shows. Hopefully, however, this is an improvement over my last super-big action chapter (Ch 15). There are still a few clunky and uneven parts, but hopefully I will improve over time.**

**Anyway, enough rambling. Here's my latest stuff…**

* * *

><p><strong>Bavogian Plaza, Red Light District, Stilwater<strong>

**Saturday, May 7, 2011, 11:02am**

* * *

><p>Dice cast a bleary-eyed glance at the Saints' main hideout as Barry pulled his purple Cosmos onto the lot. The two Saints had spent the last couple of nights guarding the <em>Brown Baggers<em> in Shivington from midnight to about quarter to eleven in the morning. Anthony, for whom she had subbed, was supposed to be back tonight to guard the business, so Dice was looking forward to a long day of sleeping and doing a whole lot of nothing else.

Barry eased the car up to the front entrance.

"Ya sure ya don' want me drivin' ya home?" the large, dark-haired Saint asked. "Ya look beat."

"I am tired," she agreed, "but see, I was told that there'd be extra money for this overnight shit. I don't care what kinda good karma crap I laid on Artemis… I just wanted the extra dough." She exited the vehicle with a yawn. "Plus Artemis says that Carlos might have the final totals or whatever for the Samedi cars we liberated on Tuesday, so I'm expecting a _big_ pay-out."

Barry looked around. "I don' see Artemis' car anywhere. Ya sure he's here?"

"Hrm, he better be. I don't wanna hafta beat his ass," she slurred as she tried to stifle another yawn.

"Ya better watch out talkin' 'bout Artemis like that," he warned. "'Member, he is in charge'a ya crew."

"Whatever." Dice cast a sideward scowl in his direction as she fished for her phone. "Guy's only in charge cuz I let'em be."

Barry laughed. "That's what I love 'bout ya, Dice. Anyway," he waved as he started pulling away. "Be seein' ya!"

"Bye, Barry!" Dice called after him. "Thanks for the lift!" As the Cosmos pulled off the lot, she found her phone and scrolled through her numbers. Finally finding the one belonging to Artemis she hit dial.

Putting a hand up to block the blinding rays of the late morning sun, Dice paced in front of the entrance.

"C'mon, pick up the fucking…"

"_Hello?"_

"Artemis, that you?"

"_Well, you dialed my number_," her fellow crewmember teased. _"Who're you expecting to answer?"_

"Seriously not in the mood, Artemis," she grumbled. "Where you at?"

"_Home."_

"Well, get your ass to the HQ. I'm tired and I want my money. Both for the overnights and for my share of the Samedi cars."

"_Oh that's right. Hmmm, now where'd I put it? I hope I can find it – will you take a check?"_

"Take a WHAT?"

Artemis started laughing.

"You are not even funny," she complained.

"_Bert's picking up Darcy and me; we'll be there soon."_

"Yeah, well, I'm goin' inside. It's the fuck hot out here. Man, early May and it's already in the nineties. It's gonna be a bitch of a summer. I'll meet ya down below on the lower level."

"_See ya in a bit."_ The phone clicked off.

Dice wandered into the entrance of the abandoned mission atop the Saints hideout. As her eyes adjusted to the interior lighting, she noticed Chaz and Dominic facing each other as they sat on the floor hiding behind one of the long wooden pews toward the front dais. They had a bunch of cards scattered in front of them. She recalled Chaz talking about a collectible card game called _Sorcery: the Congregating_ or some-such that Dom and he played every once in a while. It never really interested her, so she never paid it much attention.

Ignoring them, Dice continued on to the top of the steps and sighed deeply. She hated going down the three flights of stairs. "Hmph, might as well get it over with," she grumbled wearily and began her descent.

* * *

><p>"LOOK OUT!" came a shout from across the lowest level of Club Purgatory.<p>

Mongrel turned at the warning, and had the wherewithal to reach up and grab a rogue hacky sack flying at his head.

"Whoa, nice catch!" cried the short, pretty girl with long dreads as she came running over. She was wearing a purple bandanna and had a metal stud under her lower lip. Mongrel recognized her - she was Shaundi, one of the main Lieutenants of the Third Street Saints.

"Sorry about that," she apologized as she slowed down. "Kinda just got away from us there."

"Its fine," he said and tossed the small beanbag back to her. "No damage done." He went back to reading a copy of _Boost_, a bi-monthly car magazine whose current cover showed the new 2011 Vortex.

"Um, you play?" the Saints' lieutenant asked, holding up the hacky sack.

"Excuse me?" He turned back to look at her, then scrunched up his face. "Not really."

"You in or what?" asked one of the pair of Saints in a far corner who had been playing with Shaundi.

"Naw, go on for a bit without me," she said and tossed the bag to the unknown Saint. She turned back to Mongrel. "I've seen you around here before."

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm here occasionally."

"I'm gonna mess this up," she mumbled as she glanced down while tucking a stray lock behind her ear. She looked up again with a slight smirk. "Is it Mutt…?"

"Mongrel actually," he said with a grin. "Though sometimes I feel like a mutt."

She laughed quietly. "Sorry about that. I'm horrible with names. Uh, I'm Shaundi by the way."

He nodded at her with a smile.

"You're part of Pierce's crew, right?" She headed to the bar.

"Mm-hm," he nodded again. "I'm under Artemis."

She pulled out a beer for herself then held one up for him.

"No thank you. I don't drink."

"Gotta keep in shape and stuff, huh?" She pointed to his well-defined arms and torso as she took a sip. "You lift weights?"

"Uh, I do, yes."

"Cool." She smiled then she pulled out a blunt as she rested up against the bar. "Wanna smoke?" she offered.

He shook his head.

"That's cool," she said at his refusal. "Mind if I do?"

"Um, I don't mean to come across as rude or anything," he said trying not to look uncomfortable, "but I'm kinda waiting on someone."

The Saints' lieutenant leaned back quickly, looking as if she'd been slapped. "Oh, um, sorry."

Mongrel got up from the stool where he had been sitting. "I'll just gonna wait for her upstairs. Nice to meet you."

Stunned by his rejection, Shaundi merely muttered, "Pssh, whatever." She went to rejoin her fellow Saints still playing hacky sack.

…

"Are you kidding me, dude?" Travis shook his head as Mongrel ascended the stairs past the broken statue of the angel to the landing that overlooked Club Purgatory. Corey and he had pulled over a card table close to the railing and were sitting there catching a quick bite of _Freckle Bitches_. Corey was leader of one of the four main crews under Pierce. Along with Travis sitting next to him and Nugget (who was absent), it was Corey that went with Bert to help the night Dice was attacked by Papa Pants and Two-Tone. Both he and Travis had been wounded that night. Had it not been for their assistance, Artemis might never have been given the opportunity to rescue her; Mongrel owed them a lot.

"Excuse me?" Mongrel looked over at him.

"Man, that was Shaundi. I mean _**the**_ Shaundi."

"Yes, it was," he agreed. "She introduced herself to me, but I already knew who she was."

Travis' eyes widened. "She introduced herself?" he exclaimed, then glanced at Corey as he slapped him on the arm.

"Missed opportunity," Corey said through a mouthful of burger.

"Totally missed opportunity," Travis mimicked.

"I don't understand," the tall Saint admitted.

"She was hitting on you," Corey explained as he started on his fries.

Mongrel's brow furrowed. "I seriously doubt that."

Travis sighed in annoyance. "Dude, she totally was." He threw his arms up in frustration. "I'd have totally tried to get her digits if she'd of even said 'hello' to me."

Mongrel glanced back down at the Saints' Lieutenant, and then shrugged. He turned back to them. "Eh, she's cute I guess."

"WHAT?" Travis nearly fell out of his chair. "She's like the Chuck Norris of sex. You know 'Having sex with Shaundi can cure cancer' and all that."

"Don't bother," Corey said as he took a sip of his soda. He narrowed his eyes as he stared intently at the tall Saint. "Mongrel doesn't normally come here that often, and when he does he's with one of his crew." He continued on, "I hear Dice was working the overnight with Barry and they should be getting done just about now." He nodded to himself. "I'm thinking he's waiting here for her."

Travis blinked. "That's it? Man I don't know about you two – you're both starting to worry me," he groused. He looked at Mongrel first. "So you're into the Tiny Terror, huh?" He then indicated Corey. "And you're all serious and lovey with your girl, Trish." He shook his head. "You guys are sad."

Mongrel was about to reply when, as if summoned by the mention of her name, Dice appeared at the base of the stairway.

"Hey, speak of the Tiny Terror herself," Corey announced.

"Need s'eep," Dice grumbled as she slowly trudged toward them looking like a zombie. "Too many damn steps…" She made her way over to their table, took a seat without asking and thudded her head face first onto the tabletop.

"Ouch," Corey grimaced. "Rough night?"

"Too damn long," she burbled into the table's surface. "I just wanna go home and get some s'eep. Waitin' for Art-Artemis ta give me my money, then s'eep…"

"Oh," Mongrel muttered with a look of disappointment on his face. "I was kinda hoping you were free tonight."

"Ugh. N'more overnights," she continued slurring into the table. "Jus' want s'eep."

"It wasn't for an overnight," Mongrel said quietly as he looked down. "_Dharphilinx Theatre_ in Sunsinger is showing that new action movie tonight that you wanted to see… um, _Thunder Punch_ I think it's called."

Dice lifted her head. "What?" Her face was a mixture of weariness and confusion. "What are you saying?"

"I was gonna ask if you were busy this evening. You know, uh, maybe we could go see the movie." He looked uncertain now. "But you're tired after being up all night. I, uh, I didn't really think my plan through."

She blinked a few times. "You asking me to go see a movie with you? Like a date?" Her voice was becoming clearer as she seemed to perk up.

"Yeah, but it's no big deal," he said with a shake of his head. "Don't worry about it. We can do it some other time…"

"NO!" she yelled a bit louder than she intended as her hand shot across the table to grab his wrist. "I'm, uh, not busy at all." She was nodding her head. "Let me, um…" She sat up straight. "Let me get a nap or something, and then maybe change into some non-stinky clothes." She released his arm and started brushing her hair with her fingers. "And a shower. I'll need a shower. Ya know, before the clean clothes. Yep."

"So you want to go out with me, then?" he asked to confirm it.

"For longer than you know," she said softly.

He smiled. "I meant tonight."

"Baby," she leaned in close, her eyes clear, indicating she was wide awake now, "I'd like to see someone try and stop me."

* * *

><p>The man climbed the metal fire-escape as quickly and quietly as he was able. He was a short stocky man with pale skin, the top of his head shaved as clean as his face. Despite the heat, though, he was wearing a blue hoodie.<p>

One floor from the top, he shifted the weight of the duffel bag on his shoulder and his dark eyes glanced around to make sure everything was okay. He pulled the hood up to conceal as much of his appearance as possible and continued climbing the rusting stairs.

A noise above him made him pause three steps from his goal. He peered cautiously over the lip of the roof and saw, to his chagrin, that a purple-clothed individual was shifting uncomfortably on the rooftop. The young gang-member was peering over the parking lot behind the Saints' mission hideout. He was apparently supposed to be a look-out, but with the hot weather and the impatience of youth, he was doing a poor job of it.

The Saint grumbled something to himself and reached down for one of three 40 oz beers he had sitting next to him. The first bottle already seemed to be empty, and the second was rapidly diminishing.

The man in the blue hoodie sighed and came up with a quick plan. Hoisting the bag once again, he clambered quickly over the roof's edge and headed toward the young Saint.

"So uh, is this where I drop the money?" the man in blue asked as he got closer.

"Motherfuck!" the young Saint uttered as he whirled around. He fumbled for a Vice9 tucked in pants. "Who da fuck…? Who da fuck are you?"

"Look, I know you Saints are in charge, right?" The man in the blue hoodie stepped closer. "To get the drugs, I just gotta drop off this money here, right?" He set the duffel bag down in front of him. "Twenty-five thousand, all right there."

"Twenty-five Gs?" the young Saint exclaimed in surprise as his eyes widened. He stopped trying to pull out his pistol and moved toward the duffel. "Uh, what drugs?" he asked, but his eyes never left the bag.

"No, no," the man in the blue-hoodie continued. "They said if I brought you the money, that you'd have the drugs." He knelt down and unzipped the top of the bag. "See? It's all here."

The young Saint got close and peered down at the open bag. "That doesn't look like money; it looks like a rif…" His sentence went unfinished as the man in the hoodie quickly pulled the butt end of a disassembled sniper rifle out and slammed it into his jaw.

The young gangster stumbled back, but his assailant was quick. Another crack in the side of the temple and the Saint went down, face first. The man in the hoodie came at him from behind and wrapped his arm around the Saint's neck. He squeezed tight as he leaned down into him, using his leverage.

"Die, you shit, die!" he whispered loudly.

The young Saint struggled for a moment, trying to pull the man's arm off of his throat. He was too surprised by the quick attack to think properly, not even going for his pistol. After a few moments the Saint quit fighting and went slack, but the stocky man held on and clenched his arm tighter. A minute went by before he finally let go of his opponent.

The man felt for a pulse. Finding none, he smiled to himself. "Easier'n I thought it'd be."

He moved quickly to the edge of the roof overlooking the lot and back entrance of the Saints' mission. He knelt down and began assembling the various pieces of the sniper rifle given to him. The Jamaican, one of the most trusted members of the Samedi, had provided a McManus2010. Having a military background, the man smiled with appreciation.

A beautiful amalgam of engineering, the McManus2010 had a 44 inch length and weighed only 30 pounds when fully assembled and loaded (including the scope). While designed to be an anti-material rifle, it's semi-automatic design as well as its short recoil meant that the 25x59mm cartridges could be used almost as effectively on people as they could on vehicles (though there'd be quite a mess). The weapon was built for one purpose: to destroy.

After loading the five-round magazine in the weapon, he retrieved a remote-link headset from a side pocket of the duffel. He put it on and activated the receiver.

"Hello?" he tested. "Skeeve? This is Marty. I'm set-up and in position."

"_Receiving ya loud and clear, buddy,"_ came the reply from Skeeve.

"Ready whenever you are."

"_Good. We were just waiting on you. I'm sending Taibot's men your way now. Harley and I will be with'em."_

"You'll have cover, don't worry," Marty continued. "I've been waiting to test this baby out."

* * *

><p>"C'mon!" Bert complained from the driver's seat of his Wellington. The engine of the heavy station wagon was grumbling as it sat in front of Artemis' building on the southern edge of Bavogian Plaza. "What's the hold-up now?"<p>

Artemis waved him off as he continued to speak on his cell phone.

"He's talking to Carlos," explained Darcy as she walked up to the vehicle. The attractive woman was dressed in her usual but tasteful ensemble of gold and black with purple highlights. "He's trying to get the money Carlos promised you guys from the run on Pilsen the other day. Something about Samedi cars?"

"Oh," Bert replied in a subdued tone. "Well, that's okay then. A few extra bucks is a good enough reason to wait."

"Try about five hundred each," Darcy said with a smile.

"Really?" was Bert's quick reply.

"Apparently the Boss was quite pleased with the job you guys did," Darcy replied with a nod. "We didn't get Pilsen, but a big hurt was put on the Sons…" she trailed off as she caught sight of three green Danvilles charging along the thoroughfare off to the west. The vehicles were painted with the symbols of the Samedi and heading north toward the back-lot of the Saints' hideout. "The heck?" she muttered quietly.

She glanced down to Bert who was looking behind him. He turned back. "Was that…?" he asked.

"Samedi," she responded grimly.

"Hon," she looked to Artemis just as a rusting Nordberg SUV, tan in color, turned down their side-street, followed by two more of the green Danvilles. The vehicles hurtled alongside them, going east, right toward the front of the building in which the mission was located.

"Carlos, hold up," Artemis muttered. The phone hung at his side as he watched the enemy cars pass. "What's going on…?" he asked as he crept forward. Another green Danville raced by, followed by a green Wellington also covered in Samedi symbols.

All three of the assembled Saints turned their attention northeast as they heard gunfire and screams coming from the direction of their hideout.

"Oh my god, it's…" Darcy started raising a hand up to her mouth.

"A hit!" Artemis finished her thought. He brought the phone back up to his ear. "Carlos! We're being attacked by the Samedi at the Main HQ! Get the others – Pierce, the Boss, whoever!" He headed toward Bert's waiting vehicle as Darcy climbed in. "Bert, Darcy and me are less than a block and a half away. We're going there now, but there's a lot of Samedi! I mean A LOT!"

He clambered in and nodded at something Carlos said.

"I know, I know! Just… just get here as soon as you can." Artemis slammed the phone shut as Bert hit the gas, speeding his armored car toward the fight up ahead. "Carlos is calling the others," he explained to Bert and Darcy. "He's on his way."

Darcy looked over at him. "But will he get here soon enough?" she asked, concern on her face.

"I don't know," Artemis admitted. "I just don't know…"

* * *

><p>"As soon as Artemis gets here, we'll get our payout," Dice told Mongrel as she leaned back. "I'll, uh, see if I can get a ride home then. Ya know get a nap or something." Although she doubted she'd sleep well – she was too excited about going out tonight. "Um, what time, I mean, when should I be ready by?"<p>

"Well, the show starts at 7:30," Mongrel replied. "But there's one at 9:30. I think. It's up to you. Let me know when you want me to pick you up."

"How're we gonna get there?" she asked.

"Bert's truck."

"Oh," she muttered. "Bert's coming, too?" She seemed a little disappointed.

"No, I'm borrowing his truck tonight. He said it'd be alright."

"Well, that's cool of him." She smiled and seemed content again.

"Well, as exciting as THIS conversation is," Corey interrupted, "we gotta go."

"Yeah," Travis agreed as they got up to leave. "Pierce has some work for us. Ya know, so maybe _**we**_ can make some extra cash, instead of you guys all the time." They started heading for the stairway leading up.

"Alright, guys," Mongrel called after them. "See you around."

Corey paused and turned as he looked back. "Catch you later," he said as Travis passed him.

_**BOOM!**_

A shotgun blast went off near the base of the stairs just out of sight. Travis' body lifted off the ground and blew backwards careening into the doorway.

Dice jumped with a shriek. She turned to the stairway just as a second blast went off.

Corey spun sideways as his right side was mangled by their unseen assailant. He slammed into the wall with a cry of shock and pain and then he sank down to his knees.

"Holy shit!" Dice cried out. She got to her feet and ran towards her wounded friend.

Corey raised his head and looked Dice in the eyes, confusion on his face. While the man with the shotgun started reloading, another man dressed in the colors of the Samedi stepped forward and grabbed Corey by the hair. Before she could reach him, the Samedi pulled Corey's head back, reached around with a machete and slit his throat, blood splashing freely.

"COREY!" Dice charged forward, reaching for her crowbar tucked in her belt. Her gaze fell upon the Samedi who stepped back as he let Corey fall to the ground. "Die!" she screamed.

Mongrel had been slower to react to the sudden attack. "Dice wait!" He leaned forward and tried to grab the small girl, but he wasn't quick enough. "We're under attack!" he yelled to the rest of the Saints even as he himself had trouble believing the words. "Call for help!"

Dice loosened her crowbar and brought it up just as she closed the distance between herself and the murdering Samedi. She caught her opponent in the wrist, knocking the blade from his hand. She pressed forward and pushed him into the small confined area at the base of the steps.

More and more Samedi came charging down the stairs. The man with the shotgun had little choice but to move forward out into the hallway. Most of the Samedi, nearly a dozen or so, followed him, but one saw the short girl fighting with his fellow gang-member and reached for her. She turned and tried to bring her crowbar around to hit him, but the area was too constricting.

Her original opponent used the time to retrieve his machete with his off hand – his right wrist obviously broken.

The sounds of fighting behind her indicated that Mongrel was trying to stem the tide of the Samedi that had passed. She heard the shotgun go off again and feared the worst.

"Get off me!" she screamed at the Samedi that was grappling with her. Her new opponent had grabbed the crowbar and was trying to twist it from her hands.

As they struggled, her feet got tangled in a thick black electrical cord attached to one of the construction crew's flood lights that was set on the floor. It was still plugged into a brick red portable generator, and when she stepped back to regain her footing, the switch was flipped. A brilliant white burst of light flooded the area, temporarily blinding them and causing them to cry out in pain.

Dice's vision cleared quickly and she yanked the crowbar away from her opponent. Her original attacker came in again (apparently unaffected by the burst of light) and swung his machete haphazardly with his off hand.

She blocked the first swing with her crowbar, but as she stepped back to block his second attempt, she lost her footing and fell backwards. She screamed in surprise and slammed hard into the floor, her breath temporarily knocked out of her. His machete buried itself into the wood right above her head with a solid _**-thunk-**_ as her scream cut off.

The Samedi stopped to try and yank the blade free, giving Dice a chance to catch her breath. The second man had recovered his sight by this time and jumped on her, grabbing her crowbar again. He was pushing down, using his superior strength and gravity itself in an attempt to pin the crowbar against her throat. He was trying to kill her with her own weapon.

She tried to turn her head and wiggle free out from under the man, but she had nowhere to go. The first Samedi finally pulled his blade loose and called out to his partner.

"Hold her steady!"

The second Samedi applied more pressure and locked her arms in place; she couldn't push free. She tried bringing her knee up and get some leverage, anything to get some room. She was bucking and kicking wildly as the first Samedi loomed above her.

"I will sacrifice this one to Baron Samedi," he said with an evil grin as he raised the machete high.

Her eyes widened in horror and she gave one last desperate attempt to shove the second Samedi off of her. Straining, she pushed upwards with all of her strength, trying to move him, trying to get free… then suddenly the man pinning her flew backwards up and off of her as if he weighed nothing.

"The hell?" she said in surprise at her own strength.

…

Mongrel was unable to stop Dice as she charged headlong into the area at the base of the steps. Before he could stand and get halfway down the hallway, a man came out of the doorway brandishing a sawn-off shotgun.

Without even thinking, Mongrel increased his speed, grabbed the barrels of the gun and pulled downward to his left. Both barrels went off at once and for the most part missed him. A small cluster of about a half dozen of the small metal pellets still tore through his upper left thigh, but the damage was significantly less than having his leg blown entirely off.

Grimacing through the pain, he pulled the gun forward, dragging its owner with it. He smashed an open palm into the man's face as hard as he could and crushed his opponent's nose into his own face. The man flew back, collapsed in a heap and didn't move again.

Over his fallen form, another half dozen Samedi charged into the hallway. Three of them went straight for him as the rest continued on trying to kill everything in their path. Unlike the original attacker, however, these opponents all wielded knives, machetes, clubs and pipes. As the first Samedi swung at him, Mongrel heard Shaundi talking on her cell phone below.

"What the hell did you do, Boss? The Samedi are tearin' our place apart!" the Saints' Lieutenant yelled into her phone as gunfire erupted down below. Since none of the Samedi bore handguns, the shots had to be coming from the Saints.

Mongrel turned the first man's arm aside and swung upwards directly into his right armpit. His blow was so strong that he lifted the man off his feet at least three inches. With a cry of agony, the man fell down. The second Samedi stabbed with a knife, but Mongrel sidestepped and pinned the man's weapon arm against his side. As the third man swung a pipe, Mongrel twisted the pinned Samedi around, using him as a shield. The pipe caught his human-shield hard in the throat and the pinned Samedi went limp.

The third attacker pulled back to swing again, but before he was ready, Mongrel kicked outward and caught the man solidly in the chest knocking him into a wall.

Another group of Samedi emerged from the doorway and Mongrel cursed under his breath. How many were there? He'd never reach Dice at this rate.

As if on cue, a bright white light flooded the area behind the Samedi and Mongrel could make out shadows scrambling across the walls. As another opponent charged him, he risked a look and saw what appeared to be the shadow-forms of two figures in the next room just out of sight – the smaller, feminine one was obviously Dice. They were struggling with what appeared to be a crowbar.

He smashed a fist sideways into a Samedi's head as the shadow-figures deadly pantomime played itself out on the wall.

A side kick knocked aside another Samedi as he glanced again. The smaller shadow-girl had throw off the larger shadow-figure, but a third shadow-figure emerged, this one wielding a machete.

Mongrel punched a man in the throat as the smaller shadow-girl parried a swing of the blade with her weapon.

Two Samedi surged at once and grappled him as he saw the larger shadow-figure knock the small shadow-girl down with his blade.

Panic started to set in as he heard Dice scream in the next room, just out of sight. The Samedi grappling him tried to pull him off his feet as he watched the larger shadow-figure swing his machete downward, vanishing from his view.

He grabbed one Samedi by the wrist and pulled him away as he tucked the second's head under his left arm.

Dice's scream suddenly cut off as a solid _**-thunk-**_ emanated from the next room.

Ice tore through his veins and he reared up to his full height.

"No..." he whispered as the brilliant sapphire blue bled quickly from his eyes, leaving only a dead, slate grey behind.

His vision blurred, a red haze was everywhere. He vaguely understood that he twisted the first Samedi's arm backwards snapping it like a twig. At the same time, he leaned sideways wrapping his arm around the second Samedi's neck and pulled until a sickening gurgling crunch sounded.

And then… then Blake Randall Thomas, known simply to his fellow Saints as Mongrel, went berserk.

* * *

><p>Bert's car sped eastward in pursuit of the Samedi vehicles.<p>

His Wellington, a 1962 station wagon nicknamed the Tank, was heavily reinforced. The body, frame and bumpers were custom-fitted with thick armor and the tires were both puncture-resistant and self-sealing. The customization was expensive and added considerable mass to the vehicle - it wasn't the prettiest vehicle on the road, but it was one of the toughest. Consequently, it had a hard time keeping up with the Samedi, let alone trying to catch them. However, they didn't have far to go.

The Samedi vehicles had turned north into a short alley in between the building housing the Saints' mission and the building next to it.

Bert pushed the accelerator down further as he closed the distance to the alley. Right before reaching it he called out, "Brace yourselves!" Darcy and Artemis did as they were instructed.

Bert yanked the emergency brake as he turned the wheel hard to left. He released the brake and pressed the accelerator again, nearly flooring it. Despite being prepared, Darcy flew sideways into Artemis in the back seat as the momentum caught her. The wagon surged forward as Bert aimed right for the Samedi Wellington in front of him.

"Bert!" Artemis called out in warning as he steeled himself for the impact.

The Samedi wagon was parked in the alley. Samedi soldiers were preparing weapons in the vehicle and had all of their focus in front of them. As the Tank screamed toward the parked car, Bert once again turned the steering wheel hard to the left then immediately spun it right again. It was a maneuver that most trained drivers wouldn't have attempted in a car with good handling, let alone the boat of a car that Bert drove now.

However, in Bert's capable hands, the maneuver was perfect. Instead of plowing smack into the vehicle in front of them, the large Saint deftly aimed his car to the drivers' side of the enemy car coming within a scant two inches of it. The driver and another Samedi were exiting the green Wellington as Bert's Tank slammed into them. The driver's door was bent forward and the Samedi were crushed.

"Cheap ass piece of Samedi junk-wagon," Bert remarked dryly as he continued onto the lot where nearly a score of Samedi were in a large scale shoot-out with a few of their fellow Saints. There were green Danvilles everywhere as well as the tan Nordberg they saw earlier. The lot was choked with vehicles limiting even Bert's motor skills, but he had one last trick to play.

Four of the Samedi were tucked behind some concrete dividers near a central dumpster and had good cover. They were aiming at a small pocket of his fellow Saints that were trapped behind a purple Go!

"Hold on to your girdles, ladies!" Bert yelled as he floored the accelerator for a moment, then he suddenly slammed his foot onto the brake, yanked quickly on the emergency brake and spun the steering wheel as hard as he could to the left.

The front wheels turned then locked up as the momentum brought the heavy rear-end of the station wagon whipping around 180 degrees, Bert's car now facing south. The Samedi noticed too late as nearly three tons of car slid at fatal speeds towards them.

Tires screeched as the back end of the Tank smashed all four of the Samedi between the passenger-side and the concrete dividers. Two were killed outright as a third's upper torso flopped into the open front passenger side window. Bert pulled out his T3K SMG and shot a short burst into the invading Samedi's upper torso and head. Blood splattered everywhere.

"Damn, motherfuck!" Bert exclaimed angrily. "I _just_ cleaned the upholstery yesterday!"

Bert exited his side as Darcy and Artemis clambered out behind him. The fourth Samedi was screaming in pain as his legs had been crushed and twisted near the front of the car. He writhed in agony.

"Quit yer bitchin'," Bert complained as another short burst ended his opponent's suffering – permanently.

"Bert, get down!" Artemis ordered as he and Darcy went to their knees, using the Tank as cover. Bullets were flying in all directions, some coming dangerously close.

"Yeah, yeah," Bert hunkered behind his car as he went through his ammo. "Okay, I got three clips besides the one in my gun. How about you guys?"

"Got my GDHC.50s; two clips for each," Artemis rattled off. He turned toward Darcy. "Baby?"

"I didn't know we were going into a firefight," his girlfriend admitted. "All I got is my balisong."

"Man, I don't want you smoking that shit in my car," Bert grumbled.

"A balisong is a butterfly knife, Bert!" Darcy yelled as a spray of bullets pounded into the car's reinforced sides.

"A what?" Bert screwed up his face. "Then why the fuck don't you just say 'butterfly knife', huh? Gotta get all technical."

"Bert!" Artemis shook his head as another bullet zipped by his head. He then focused his attention on Darcy. "Woman," he admonished with a shake of his head.

"Everything happened so fast," she apologized. "I didn't even think."

"They're going into our base!" Bert called out, grabbing Artemis' attention. He indicated the entrance where several Samedi went in. Following them were a couple of large brutes from the Stilwater Biker Club. Artemis recognized them as Skeeve and Harley from the assault on Shivington he led so long ago.

A streak of purple caught his attention as he peered around the side of the Tank. It was Robert, a large Saint on Shaundi's crew known for his strength and speed. He was charging across the lot in an apparent attempt to come upon the invading Samedi from behind. He almost reached the mission entrance when…

_**KRA-KOW!**_

A loud report of a rifle boomed out from across the lot. A red splatter engulfed the middle of Robert's back. The large Saint flew face first into the pavement.

"Holy…!" Bert cried out as he pulled in against his car.

"That… what was that?" asked a startled Darcy.

"Sniper!" Artemis yelled. "Stay close to the car, until we can figure out where he's at."

"Oh, dude, he's not dead," Bert said pointing to Robert who lifted his head slightly and tried to crawl away. Bert made a move to go toward his fellow Saint. "We gotta help'im!"

Artemis grabbed his arm. "There's nothing you can do, man. You'll never make it in time." As if to emphasize his statement, another short rang out.

_**KRA-KOW!**_

Robert's head slammed forward, blood, brains and gore showering the pavement in front of him.

"Oh, man!" Bert slumped down in defeat. "What'll we do?"

Artemis scanned the area, taking everything in.

The Samedi seemed to be in control of the west, east, and north entrances of the lot. He started counting. There were still at least sixteen of them that he could see, maybe more and that didn't include the sniper. The Saints present seemed to be pinned just west of the mission entrance, tucked behind some cars.

There were three dead Saints in front of the mission entrance , four with Robert. Each had a grievous wound on them from the sniper. Robert had known the sniper was there – he had known and tried to stop the Samedi entering the mission anyway. He'd relied on his speed, but it wasn't enough and he'd paid the price.

_**KRA-KOW!**_

A shot rang out again and a large dent exploded into the hood of one of the Saints' cars west of the building. Steam started jetting out the front, indicating that the radiator had been damaged. A couple more shots like that and the engine may catch on fire, exploding the car. Without cover, the few Saints left would be fodder.

Artemis tried to catch glimpses of who was present for the Saints. If he could call one of them on his cell, maybe they could set up a coordinated counterattack. He saw Theodore, a Mexican kid in Shaundi's crew as well as a terrified Molly and Stella tucked behind a large Asian Saint he didn't recognize. There were a few others he couldn't make out. Unfortunately, he didn't have any of their numbers.

"Oh shit, no!" Bert suddenly shouted. "Tonya's over there." He pointed just west of where Artemis had been looking. True enough, the girl was crouched down behind another concrete divider across the lot along with a wounded male Saint. Their position was dangerously close to the encroaching Samedi who poured round after round into their defenses, slowly chipping away at the concrete.

"You got her number?" Artemis asked quickly. "Maybe we could call her, set up communications."

"No." A pained look crossed his friend's face. "I never… I was too much of a coward to get it." He shifted uncomfortably. "I was too damn stupid."

"Don't fall apart on me now, man," Artemis tried to embolden him. "I need you."

"There!" Darcy cried out pointing to the roof corner of the building opposite the lot. "I saw him! The sniper!"

Artemis watched the area Darcy had indicated. Sure enough, a few seconds later a man in a blue hoodie peeked over, the unmistakable barrel of a rifle just barely poking above the roof's lip.

"Artemis!" Bert cried out as he fired off his T3K. A small group of four Samedi had tried sneaking up on their position. Bert sprayed the rest of his clip into the group, dropping two of the assailants.

Artemis pulled out one of his custom pistols and fired it twice. Hitting each of the two remaining Samedi in the face. Both fell.

"Partner," Bert looked over as he put a fresh clip into his SMG, "we are in a shithole spot. We are pinned down, our buddies are in trouble, and the Samedi got free reign with that sniper guy up there." He glanced around with a hopeless look on his face, then turned back to Artemis. "What'll we do? What's the plan?"

Artemis stared back at him, not knowing what to say.

* * *

><p>Dice strained to shove away the Samedi that had her pinned with her own weapon. His partner was ready to swing his machete down and kill her. Redoubling her efforts, she gave one final desperate push against her attacker, using all of her might to get him off her.<p>

The man suddenly flew backwards as if he weighed nothing.

"The hell?" she said in surprise at her own strength. She quickly realized her mistake.

Looming out of nowhere, was a tall, blond-haired man who had grabbed her attacker by the nape of the neck and hurtled him backwards. The Samedi crashed through the wooden railing near the bottom of the staircase, leaving only the bottom pole of the banister still attached to the steps. She recognized her savior; it was…

"Blake!" she cried out as she tried to regain her feet.

"How DARE you touch her!" he growled at the Samedi who wielded the machete. A quick punch to the man's head, and he flew back into the plasterboard that lined the area around the base of the stairs. Hitting the wall so hard he rebounded six inches off of it, the man dropped his machete. Mongrel reached behind the man's head, grabbing it from the rear and spun him around.

Mongrel smashed the man's face into the wall once, twice, and then a third time. So strong was his final blow that the man's head actually broke through the plasterboard into the hollow space beyond. He raised his left elbow up and drove it into the top of the Samedi's head, crushing it down into the edge of the hole in the wall. Blood started pouring out from beneath the rival gang-member's chin - the edge apparently cutting through his throat.

Mongrel spun on his heel and turned his fury on the Samedi moaning near the railing of the steps, the one that had pinned Dice down.

He stalked over and grabbed the three and a half foot wooden banister that was still attached to the stairs and tore it loose. Standing above the slowly moving man, Mongrel raised the wooden pole above the man's head.

With a dark grin, he whispered, "You'll never hurt another person again." He drove the ragged and splintered end down into the Samedi's head repeatedly.

As Dice regained her footing, she realized something was wrong. Blake wasn't just hitting the Samedi, wasn't just hurting them; he was _**punishing**_ them. He was being too brutal – it wasn't like him at all, which could only mean…

"No no no!" Understanding began to dawn on her. She ran to Mongrel and grabbed his arm. "Blake! Turn around!" she cried out to him. "I need you to turn around!"

Mongrel dropped the bloodied pole onto the mush that was the now-dead Samedi's head and slowly turned. As Dice gazed into his face, into his eyes, her worst fears were realized.

"Baby, you need to calm down," she pleaded. "Please baby, calm down. You gotta come back. Listen to me."

A sudden movement caught his attention. A lone Samedi with a rusty Vice9 was standing at the top of the stairs. Mongrel shoved Dice out of the way, slamming her into the far wall. The Samedi fired a single shot before the gun jammed. The poorly aimed bullet caught Mongrel in the right shoulder, but he barely flinched.

A murderous look came over his face. "Get away from my friends!" he screamed as he bounded up the steps taking two and three at a time. "Get out of my house!"

Dice steadied herself then raced after him. She'd seen his eyes. He'd lost it; he thought he was fighting the Samedi again at his old house where they murdered his family. Mongrel was one of the most skilled combatants she'd known and if pressed he could be crazy strong. But when he lost it like this, he wasn't cautious and worse, he most certainly wasn't bulletproof. She shook her head as the errant thought formed in her mind, she already lost two of her good friends today; she didn't want to lose her most important one.

The short Samedi led the tall Saint up all three flights of stairs in a mad dash to escape. Dice was beginning to fall behind and almost lost sight of them twice.

"Blake!" she called out. "Wait for me!"

The tall Saint finally got to the ground floor and moved toward the cowering Samedi. Right before he reached his target, a slashing blade tore a huge gash through his right side and he fell backwards in pain.

Dice made it to the top of stairs in time to witness Mongrel stumble back into some debris barely catching himself as he grabbed one of the six-foot free-standing candelabras for support. She could hear gunfire in the large room beyond where the pews were. Maybe Chaz and Dominic were still alive.

"Blake!" she shrieked then turned toward his attackers. Besides the short unknown Samedi that shot Mongrel, there were three others, two of which she recognized.

"Hey Micas, that's the one that busted up Gressor's knee," said a heavy-set graying man dressed in a leather biker jacket pointing towards Mongrel. It was Skeeve from the Stilwater Biker Gang. He had a chain in his left hand and brass knuckles on his right.

"She was there, too," remarked an equally large figure also wearing a leather jacket standing behind Skeeve. His hair and beard were a darker brown and he was holding a bat – it was Skeeve's point-man, Harley.

Micas, the Son that Skeeve had addressed, was a muscular black man with dark eyes and a tattoo on his left cheek of a green skull with white teeth. He wielded a large, heavy machete which dripped with Mongrel's blood. He stepped forward.

"She's also the one that the dead pimp, Papa Pants, wanted," the powerful-looking black man said. He pointed to the pair of Saints with his machete. "It seems killing you two will be a great service for the General and Baron Samedi."

Dice reached for her NR4 at the small of her back only to find it missing. It was probably dislodged as she had wrestled with the two now-deceased Samedi down below. She gripped her pink crowbar with both hands and swung it defensively in front of herself.

"You try to touch us and I'll kill you!" she promised them.

"I seriously doubt that, little girl," Micas said as the three large men approached. They were quickly joined by the small unknown Samedi that Mongrel had chased up the steps. "I seriously doubt that indeed."

* * *

><p>Artemis, Darcy and Bert crouched low as Samedi bullets were ricocheting all around them. Artemis popped out of cover for a moment and fired off two shots, catching another of their assailants in the throat.<p>

"Anything yet?" Bert asked. "I'm running low on ammo." He finished off the last of his second clip and loaded the third into his T3K.

"I'm thinking," Artemis called back. "Gimme a minute." He needed to come up with a plan. Bert had stated their problems ineloquently, yet correctly: they were pinned, their fellow Saints were trapped, and the Samedi had free reign of the lot. If they could maneuver carefully enough, they could get into a better position. If they could get the other Saints freed up, their chances would improve. If they could take away the Samedi's advantage, they would be able to counterattack.

All of it hinged on one thing: removing the sniper. The question was, how?

As Artemis pondered a solution, a purple and gold Compton pulled onto the lot from the south. A young Spanish girl quickly exited the vehicle and ran across the lot to the front of the mission. Artemis recognized her – she was Nina, one of Shaundi's crew… and the girlfriend of Theodore, if his in-gang gossip was up-to-date.

"Shit, she's right out in the open!" Bert announced. "She doesn't know about the sniper!" He stood. "Stay down!" he screamed, trying to get her attention.

"Teddy!" Nina called out as she ran. "Teddy! Are you still here?"

Theodore got up from his position of safety as he heard her and started running out. "Nina, get back!" he tried to wave her back. "Please, get back!"

_**KRA-KOW!**_

A bloody hole tore through the girl's right thigh as the sniper found his mark. She screamed out in pain and fell stumbling forward. She slowly clambered up to her knees.

Theodore cried out and increased his speed to reach her.

"Teddy?" she called out in surprise as she reached out toward her approaching boyfriend.

_**KRA-KOW!**_

The back of the Spanish girl's head burst into brain and bone, the only thing holding the back of her scalp on was skin and her long curly black hair. Shock dominated her features and she slumped over sideways, going with the momentum of the impact.

"NOOO!" Theodore turned and started firing at the sniper in anger.

_**KRA-KOW!**_

An eruption of crimson blood coated his chest and the young Mexican boy flew backwards and crashed to the ground, the young lovers dying within twenty feet of each other.

"Motherfuck, coward whore!" Bert turned angrily, still standing and fired his entire clip up at the corner where the sniper perched. His shots were wild, but still the sniper ducked. "Why don't you try me, you fucker?" he challenged.

Artemis pulled him down behind his car. "Bert, control yourself."

"Pussy bitch only goes after people running near the hideout!" the large man rumbled.

Artemis paused at Bert's statement, rolling it around his head… and suddenly, he had a plan.

…

...

The three Saints crouched low behind the Tank as they discussed Artemis' idea.

"You sure you can hit him?" Bert asked.

"No," Artemis replied honestly, "but if you have a better plan, man, in all seriousness, please share it with me."

Whenever a Saint ran anywhere near the entrance to the hideout, the sniper struck; his orders seemed to be to keep the entryway clear.

They would have to draw him out; they would have to get someone to run for the entrance. Only then would they have a shot at the sniper.

Of the weapons they had on hand, Artemis' custom GDHC.50 offered the best chance of hitting the sniper, but even then the shot would be at the pistol's extreme range. Chances of actually hitting at that range were highly unlikely at best, impossible at worst, but it was all they had.

Artemis, the best marksman among them, would of course be the one to take the shot. That was the easy decision. Who would go… who would be the bait? That was the difficult one.

"Leave it to me," Bert volunteered. "Anything I can do to hurt this fuck will be a pleasure."

"No," Darcy said quietly. "It has to be me. Isn't that right, Will?"

Artemis said nothing as he cast his gaze downward.

"I was a sprint team captain in high school," she explained. "I still got the legs. Besides…" She patted Bert on the tummy. "I'm a slightly smaller target."

"I'm just solidly built," the automatic reply was muttered, but a pained look of concern was in Bert's eyes. "How're you even sure he's gonna track you?" Bert asked.

"An attractive young black woman, looking as fine as me and wearing all this bling?" She laughed, but they could see the fear in her eyes. "Who wouldn't notice me?"

Artemis brought his head up. He pulled Darcy close, looked her in the eyes and kissed her deeply. He enjoyed the feeling of her against him and for a moment everything was okay. The kiss lingered, but not long enough.

Pulling away from her, Artemis glanced at Bert. "You have to lay down fire. You have to keep the Samedi on the ground away from her."

Bert nodded, determination in his eyes. "They won't touch her."

He turned to Darcy, "Keep running, you understand me? No matter what happens… you just keeping running."

"I will," she agreed, her voice shaking. "J-just don't miss, okay?"

"I won't." He reached for the gold cross around his neck, gaining comfort from the fleur-de-lis symbol carved into its surface. He held his head low, closed his eyes and concentrated.

_I am Artemis. I am the best marksman in the Third Street Saints. I will not miss my target. My aim will be true. I am Artemis._

He repeated it over and over in his head as he willed his heart rate to slow down, to calm himself for the task ahead.

_I am Artemis. I am the best marksman in the Third Street Saints. I will not miss my target. My aim will be true. I am Artemis._

"Darcy," he said finally in a low voice. "Go. Go now."

Darcy stood and took off at a full run for the entrance of the hideout. It was less than two hundred feet away, but it seemed like miles. The pounding of her feet against the hard pavement matched that of her heartbeat. She increased her speed, trying to ignore the bodies of her fellow Saints littering the ground… the grievous wounds they had… the horrible deaths they'd experienced. She aimed for the double entryway, aimed for it and prayed.

_I am Artemis…_

Artemis opened his eyes and stood, turning toward the sniper's perch as he did so.

_I am the best marksman in the Third Street Saints…_

As he positioned himself, he heard the _**-brrpt- -brrpt-**_ of Bert's T3K as the large man gave Darcy cover. He heard the shouts of anger and the cries of pain of the Samedi that Bert shot.

_I will not miss my target..._

He finally focused all of his attention on the sniper's perch. The rifle's barrel poked out from cover followed by the sniper himself. The enemy leaned out as he saw Darcy.

_My aim will be true…_

Artemis brought his handgun up, aiming it with his right hand as he cupped the pommel with the left, to increase his accuracy and reduce the recoil. The sniper aimed his own weapon, lining up Darcy in his sights and prepared to shoot.

"I am Artemis," he whispered as he squeezed the trigger.

_**BLAM!**_

_**KRA-KOW!**_

Artemis' bullet flew up at the enemy and its aim was true. It impacted on the sniper's left arm throwing off his aim.

A grapefruit-sized hole exploded into the ground three feet from Darcy. She shrieked and almost lost her footing but kept going, heading for the building as her heart raced.

Artemis heard her cry but forced the sound from his mind. He adjusted his aim, waited a whole second and pulled the trigger again.

_**BLAM!**_

This time the bullet caught the sniper in the upper shoulder, knocking him up and back, giving Artemis a better target.

Another adjustment to his aim, another second, another squeeze of the trigger…

_**BLAM!**_

The third round ripped into the sniper's throat right below his chin. Blood splattered out and coated the sniper's neck and the front of his hoodie, not as impressive as the effects the rifle had done to his fellow Saints, but the result was the same.

The sniper's eyes widened with surprise as he clutched his gushing wound. He stumbled a moment, leaned a bit too far sideways and tumbled off the edge of the roof.

Artemis was already turning to give support to Bert when he heard the sniper's body slam into the hard pavement below.

The rest of the Saints cheered as they witnessed the death of the predator that had been terrorizing them as he fell from the building.

Artemis fired off more shots, each bullet finding and dropping a target. He reloaded and then scanned the area. He caught sight of Darcy. She made it to the building, but rather than going in, she had joined the rest of the Saints taking cover behind their cars. He continued to look around and his eyes locked onto a familiar face amongst the Samedi – a young, rail-thin Asian man dressed in black and green. It was…

"Checkers," he muttered under his breath. "Son of a bitch." His arm snapped up and he took careful aim. The Saints were still outnumbered but at least he'd get rid of this constant thorn in the Saints' side.

A squeal of tires and a crash grabbed Artemis' attention. A black Superiore flew onto the lot from the western entrance and mowed over a handful of Samedi too slow to get out of its way. The high-end sports car swerved erratically and careened into two of the Samedi's Danvilles. The driver's door opened and out stumbled a tall athletic woman dressed in purple and black – it was the Boss!

"Saints' Row… uh…" she stumbled forward and almost fell over. Apparently the crash of her car had addled her somewhat. "Saints' Row bitches! Whoa. WHOA!" She nearly fell down again, her clumsy movements drawing everyone's attention, Saint and Samedi alike.

The Boss finally steadied herself and stood staring at the foremost batch of Samedi. She paused a moment, tilted her head, and blinked at them. The scene grew quiet, then…

"Get the fuck off my property!" she demanded and raised her pistol up, firing as she did so. Three of the stunned Samedi fell before they could react.

"Get'em!" another Saint called out somewhere from the back and suddenly the tide of the battle changed. Purple figures rushed forward with angry shouts, their morale restored by the presence of their Boss, and suddenly green-clothed figures started dying.

As Bert charged out to join up with their fellows, Artemis looked back to try and find Checkers among the fleeing enemy gang-members but the Asian man was gone.

"Dammit!" he grumbled. "Lost him again!"

* * *

><p>Mongrel's side was bleeding freely, but the tall Saint started to right himself, using the tall, heavy, brass candelabra for support. Dice stood in front of him, crouched low, awaiting her foes' approach. She didn't have to wait long.<p>

Micas came in swinging his deadly machete and Dice parried it quickly. The small nameless Samedi grabbed up a broken piece of wood and swung the makeshift club at Dice.

She back-stepped, trying to keep herself between Blake and her attackers. The short Samedi came in again and was rewarded with a quick clunk to the head from Baby, her pink crowbar. The blow wasn't enough to kill him, but it did knock him down and took him out of the fight for a few seconds.

Harley moved in and swung his bat to clear the area. Dice stepped backwards again and almost stumbled, leaving herself wide open as Harley started to swing again. She braced for the blow, but it never came.

Harley's bat was blocked aside by the six-foot candelabra, now wielded by Mongrel.

The tall Saint had regained his footing and rejoined the fight. He gripped the eighty pound piece of brass near the top and kicked out hard at the weighted base. Harley tried to back up, but Mongrel's maneuver sent the heavy base of the candelabra arcing upwards and caught the biker square in the jaw. The large man went flying back.

Micas swung in again with his machete as Mongrel used the pendulum-like momentum of the brass candelabra to slam the top end into the ground, jarring loose all the bits of melted candle wax that had remained. Mongrel moved quickly and side-stepped Micas' blow, then pulled up on the candelabra slashing at the Samedi's torso with the top. Micas screamed out in pain as bloody tears opened on his chest.

The wax had been concealing four-and-a-half inch long brass spikes that were used to hold the candles in place. The spikes had been exposed, and the weapon advantage now belonged to Mongrel.

Skeeve tried to catch Mongrel's weapon with his chain, but the tall Saint was too quick. He stepped back and pulled the makeshift weapon close. Mongrel kicked straight out at Skeeve and connected with the grey-haired thug. Skeeve stumbled back and tripped over a low step near the back of the room.

Dice had recovered and was looking for a way to assist Mongrel, but the wide swings of his candelabra made that hazardous at best.

Micas moved in again and slashed sideways, but Mongrel dodged lithely and swung the candelabra around smashing the heavy base into the weapon arm of Micas. The blow connected and the muscular Samedi cried out as the machete went skittering off. The tall Saint wasn't finished, though. Continuing the momentum, he brought the deadly top of the candelabra around again, and thrust forward.

Six of the nine brass spikes plunged into the upper torso of Micas, impaling him. He screamed and grabbed the metal shaft of the candelabra, trying to pull the spikes out, but Mongrel was too strong. They stayed that way for a moment until Mongrel twisted the heavy metal bar in his hands, causing the spiked head of the candelabra to turn sideways.

Micas gurgled and fell to his knees, the spikes ripping his torso apart. With one final thrust, Mongrel shoved the dying Samedi over onto his back. Micas twitched then breathed his last.

"Blake, to the side!" Dice warned as Harley, who had regained his feet, came in again. The biker thug had lost his bat and was now looking to grappling the tall Saint.

Mongrel started pulling the bloody spikes out of Micas' body as Skeeve came in again. Dice tried to call out another warning when she was tackled from behind by the short Samedi she had knocked over earlier and had all but forgotten.

She fell forward and almost lost her grip on her crowbar. She twisted and squirmed as the minor Samedi tried to hold her, tried to pin her, but she'd had enough of that. As she fought she saw Skeeve swing his chain down and hit Mongrel in the hand, loosening his hold on the candelabra. She twisted and finally rolled out from under the small Samedi then tried to get to her feet.

Skeeve swung again this time wrapping the loose end of the heavy chain around the shaft of Mongrel's makeshift weapon. He succeeded and yanked hard on the chain just as Harley closed the distance.

"Get'em, man," Skeeve told the other biker thug as he pulled the candelabra from Mongrel's grasp.

"I'm trying, Skeeve, the dude's just too damn strong," the thug said trying to wrap his arms around Mongrel's mid-section. He finally got a partial hold and pushed against the wounded Saint, slowly moving him backwards.

Dice clambered to her feet to go to Mongrel's aid when the unknown Samedi grabbed her ankle.

Skeeve released the chain twisted around the candelabra and both metal objects crashed to the floor. He came up behind Mongrel and wrapped one arm around the tall Saint's neck as he drove his brass knuckles into the large bleeding wound on his side. Mongrel howled in pain and the blood started seeping quicker.

"Let go of me!" Dice cried in desperation at the small Samedi who still clung to her ankle. "They're tearing him apart! THEY'RE TEARING HIM APART!" She managed to twist her ankle out of his hands, turned and kicked him in the face, knocking him away. She focused her attention on Skeeve, gripped her crowbar in both hands and charged at him.

"Get off of him!" she ordered and smashed the crowbar into the small of Skeeve's back. The large thug grunted painfully, released his hold on Mongrel and went to a knee. Dice looped the crowbar over his head and pulled it up under the big man's chin. She yanked upwards, trying to choke him. "How do you like it, fucker? How do you like it?"

Free of Skeeve's hold, Mongrel could turn his full attention to Harley. He grappled with the man pulling him away from his mid-section.

"Get… echk… off me… ggeer… ya crazy bitch," Skeeve mumbled as he slowly, inexorably, stood back up. He gripped the crowbar and pulled it away from his throat.

Dice's feet left the ground, but she refused to let go. Instead, she started driving her knees into the thug's back.

"I said get off!" the biker leader spun and pushed backwards slamming Dice into a wall and knocking the breath out of her. He did it again and this time the tiny Saint blacked out for a second, releasing her grip as she did so and fell to the ground.

She came to a second later as Skeeve moved toward her. She didn't see Mongrel anymore; all she could see was the large grey-haired biker holding her crowbar with a wicked grin.

Then a shadow fell across her.

She leaned her head back and saw someone unexpected. It was a tall, athletic woman of mixed Chinese and American features wearing purple and black. It was the Boss, but she'd seen better days. Her head was tilted to the side; her pupils were so dilated you couldn't even tell what colors her eyes were. She seemed to be drooling slightly and had an odd tick in her neck.

The new arrival whipped up a GAL43 SMG (taken off the body of one of her victims outside) and pointed it right in Skeeve's face. Skeeve panicked and dropped the crowbar holding up his hands in surrender. They stayed that way for a long moment and then the Boss made one simple observation:

"You ain't Shaundi."

She pulled the trigger and twenty rounds shredded Skeeve's head and upper torso. She then glanced over at the small Samedi who was trying to crawl away. "You ain't either." Another dozen rounds ended the enemy gang-member's life.

Dice blinked as the woman continued on down the staircase.

"Shaundi! Where you at up in this bitch?" the Boss called out. "This whole rescuin' you thing's startin' to become pretty cliché!"

Dice got to her feet and looked for Mongrel. He was leaning heavily against a far wall, blood having almost entirely coated his right leg. Harley was lying at his feet, his head twisted at an odd angle. She leaned down to retrieve her crowbar when Chaz and Dominic came running over.

"That was the Boss!" Chaz called out excitedly. "She saved us!"

Dice nodded in agreement. She was about to say something when she was interrupted.

"Dice?" Mongrel slurred out from across the room. He was turning deathly pale and his eyes had resumed their normal blue color. He started to slump forward.

"Oh no!" she screamed as she went to him. She reached out and tried to slow his collapse, but he was too heavy. "Baby, I can't hold you, I can't hold you!"

Mongrel thudded onto the floor and went still.

"Oh my god!" she screamed as her insides clenched and she knelt beside him. "No, NO!" She wrung her hands into his shirt and started tugging on it. "Not him, please, not him!"

The sight was all too familiar. A flashback of her father burned through her mind. There was blood everywhere just like there was now. What should she do? Should she put pressure on the wound to stop the blood? Didn't she need hot water or something? Panic started to grab hold, blurring her thoughts. She couldn't remember; she didn't know what to do, just like the time with her father. She could only sit by and watch as another person she cared for slipped away.

Everything was the same, everything, with but one exception.

This time she wasn't alone.

"Aw damn!" cried Chaz. "Is Mongrel dead?"

"No!" Dice screamed defiantly. "At least I don't know. He can't be." She turned to the younger Saint. "Please, help me. Help _him_. I-I don't know what to do."

"I don't know either," Chaz admitted, his face grim. "But Artemis would. He's smart."

"Yes!" Dice nodded. "He's supposed to be coming here."

Chaz tapped Dominic. "C'mon, man, let's go find him."

"What if there's more Samedi?" the other Saint asked.

Chaz held up his gun. "We kill'em then. One of our friends needs help. We don't have time to waste." As the pair headed off he called back to Dice. "We'll bring help, just hang on!"

Dice just nodded as she looked numbly at Mongrel.

"Hold on, baby," she quietly pleaded. "Hold on. Please, hold on for me…"


	24. Ep 3: Retaliation, Part 6

**This chap has multiple points of view… sorry, I just can't seem to **_**not**_** do that…**

**Anyway, here's the aftermath of the viciousness from last chap:**

* * *

><p><strong>Episode 3: Retaliation<strong>

**Part 6**

* * *

><p>Dice trudged forward, the occasional sound of loose gravel crunching beneath her tennis shoes. She slowly became aware that her left forearm was hurting - a light dull pain that slowly increased its aggravation. She looked over to see what was wrong and suddenly realized she had the handles of a plastic shopping bag from Big Al's Grocery wrapped around her wrist.<p>

Where was she?

She looked around the grey area and the back parking lot of her apartment building in Prawn Court slowly came into focus.

What was in the bag? She must've gone to the store. Probably to buy bandages, antibiotics, and pain killers for Blake's wounds… Oh, wait, she didn't need them anymore.

She paused on the lot and stared upwards at the back window of her apartment on the third floor.

A dull ache in her heart throbbed as painfully as the growing one on her wrist.

The attack on Club Purgatory had been thwarted, but not without dire cost. She couldn't seem to recall all of the details. Everything was too cloudy, but she did remember the worst of it.

Her best friend, the young man who was _THE_ most important person in the world to her had been grievously injured. His blood was everywhere. She tried to stop the bleeding, but couldn't. When the others came to help…

She took a deep breath.

He'd lost so much blood and…

The Saints tried everything. The Boss, Pierce, even Artemis… none of them could get the bleeding to stop.

They amputated his leg in an effort to save him, but it only made it worse. She didn't understand why they did that – his wound wasn't on his leg – but what did she know. They performed… what'd they call it... field surgery… on him. It didn't matter. Blake never woke. She lost him.

A shuddering sob ran through her body as she put her hand up to her mouth. What was she going to do now? How could she go on? Everything she had hoped for… She paused at the thought. Hope. Hope was gone. Her eyes began to tear up.

She leaned forward and laid her head against her apartment building. Somehow, without even realizing it, she must've walked right up to it. As she rested there crying, the pain in her arm increased. She almost released the bag when the apartment door suddenly opened.

"I don't appreciate your friends coming over uninvited, young lady." It was the building's on-sight manager, Stanley Mendergan.

She looked up at him through her tears, his face distorted.

"Wha… Stanley?"

"Call me Mr Mendergan," he grumbled. "You messed up, Dice. You don't deserve to call me Stanley anymore." He held the door open and ushered her inside. "Go deal with your friends."

She nodded, wondering how he learned her gang name; she didn't remember telling it to him. Then again everything was fuzzy now. She solemnly went up the stairs as the pain in her forearm grew worse. Why was it hurting so much? She went to untangle the bag, but before she could even start, she was somehow standing in front of her apartment – the door ominously open. She blinked in confusion.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice echoing. She entered cautiously, trying to be quiet, but the rustling of the plastic bag wrapped around her left wrist made too much noise. As she stepped into her apartment, she focused on trying to finally undo the bag's twisted handles. So intent was she on the task that she stumbled and fell over something laying in the middle of the room.

"The hell…!" she cursed as she slammed into the floor. She turned an angry gaze to see what she tripped over and her heart nearly skipped a beat.

Lying on her back near the foot of the couch was her friend, Spade. Her face was frozen in horror, eyes bulging. Across her soft neck was a jagged bloody tear – her blood a blackish tint indicating it'd started to thicken and dry.

"Spade!" Dice screamed as she tried to regain her footing, but she slipped on something slick coating the ground.

She looked down and saw more blood that had slowly pooled from the far corner. Not wanting to see its source, but unable to pull her eyes away, her gaze followed the trail of blood to the wall.

Slumped there were the bodies of Artemis, Chaz, Bert, Lucia and Corey – their throats torn open in a manner similar to Spade's.

"Oh my god!" she cried out. "What's going on? They can't be dead!"

_**Of course, they can, dear.**_

Dice froze on the spot as a cold chill danced up her spine. She knew that voice, the horrible accusatory voice that blamed her for everything. It had been so long since she'd heard it, she had actually thought it was gone, but she was mistaken.

She forced her head to turn toward the speaker, hoping he was not there, but knowing he would be.

She finally looked up at the open doorway to her apartment, and standing there was her accuser, grim and battered, a vicious slash across his neck releasing a constant and unending stream of crimson fluid. She forced out one word:

"D-daddy?"

_**Who else, my dear? **_he asked with a smile. His voice was hollow, his words mixed with a strained, gurgling noise. As he spoke, the blood spilling from his wound increased.

"You did this?" she asked. "Why? WHY?"

_**Not me,**_ he explained. _**This is all YOUR fault. Just like my accident. Just like my death.**_

"I didn't do this!" she cried back as tears starting coming to her eyes once again. "I didn't!"

_**You NEVER listen, do you?**_ Her father shook his head. _**I said this was all your fault. I never said you killed them.**_

"Then who did?"

_**Him.**_ Her father pointed to a new figure coming out of the shadows of the kitchen. As the figure approached and came more into focus, Dice felt her heart pounding in her chest with fear.

"Y-you… you can't be here," she stuttered as she tried to crawl away, but her feet slid on the blood-stained floor once again. "You're d-dead."

The figure stepped closer, his once immaculate blue and white pimp suit was now tattered and bloody, most of the red stains having been created by the large bullet hole in his neck. It was Papa Pants, but his normally dark skin had a grey tint to it and his eyes had become green and reptilian with red slashes for pupils.

"I told you, you little slut," the twisted newcomer growled, "that your ass would be mine."

"Artemis, h-he killed you," Dice muttered as she finally managed to scamper back toward the wall. "You can't be here. You can't!"

"Artemis is dead. He can't protect you anymore, you useless bitch!" The large man-thing reached down with his left hand and grabbed her by the throat. He hauled her up effortlessly until they were eye to eye, her feet dangling off the floor.

She tried to grab his wrist, but her left arm wouldn't respond. It hurt too much from carrying whatever was in that stupid bag.

"Be careful with that," the Papa Pants-creature admonished. "He's already torn up pretty bad."

Her confusion at his statement must've registered on her face, because the pimp merely smiled.

"Oh, you didn't know?" he asked as he reached down with his right hand and ripped the contents from the flimsy plastic bag. He pulled up the severed head of Blake, whose features were twisted and horribly mutilated.

Her eyes widened with shock and horror.

"No…" she gurgled in the pimp's grasp.

"Now it's your turn!" The creature that was Papa Pants laughed and suddenly a vertical tear appeared down the middle of his lower jaw then his chin split apart. Where the bottom half of his mouth had been three thorn-covered purple and red tentacles sprouted out – the tips ending in lamprey-like mouths.

"Please don't!" Dice managed to gasp out as the three slavering tentacle-mouths enveloped her face. "NOOOO!"

* * *

><p><strong>Bavogian Plaza, Red Light District, Stilwater<strong>

**Saturday, May 7, 2011, 5:58pm**

**The Mission above **_**Club Purgatory**_

**less than six hours after the Samedi attack...**

…

"NOOOOO!" Dice screamed as she sat bolt upright on the pew upon which she had fallen asleep. She looked around in terror as figures moved back and forth near her. A few of them stopped and looked at her as she screamed, one even drew a pistol.

"The fuck…?" the youth with the gun asked, obviously startled.

"Hey, put it away," said another figure, who she quickly realized was Bert. "It's just my friend, Dice."

"Nutty bitch doesn't need ta be yellin' an' shit, man," the first figure said. He was dressed in purple. He was a Saint. "Fool needs ta calm down, all I'm sayin'."

"Excuse me?" Bert stopped and turned toward the unknown Saint, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "My friend was here when the heavy shit went down. She and a handful of others held our Hideout while the rest of us were outside, unable to help." He stepped forward slowly, getting up in the Saint's face. "She was here in the worst of it."

Bert tilted his head as his eyes narrowed in anger.

"Where the fuck were you?"

The other Saint backed down. "I… We just got here."

"Go make yourself useful, then, before I decide to test whether or not you're bulletproof," Bert threatened.

The young Saint blanched and quickly moved off toward the stairs heading down, Bert's hateful gaze following him. After a moment, Bert focused his attention on the short girl who was vigorously rubbing her left forearm.

"You okay?" he asked as he approached.

"Huh?" Dice gazed up at him wide-eyed. "Uh, yeah. Yes." She nodded and looked around fearfully. "I musta, uh, musta fell asleep. I'm fine." She nodded again, as if trying to convince herself that her last statement was true.

"Yeah," Bert agreed, compassion now showing on his face.

"This is real, right?" she asked then suddenly realized how crazy the question sounded. "I mean, uh, how… uh, how're we doing? Is everyone…?"

"We're okay," Bert said quietly as he sat down. "Well, everyone's as good as can be expected."

Dice nodded, still rubbing her arm. She'd been cradling Baby, her pink crowbar, and apparently cut off the circulation to her left arm while she slept – it explained the pain she felt during her dream. She hoped it was a dream, at least.

"Is, uh…" she began, her voice a little higher pitched than she intended. She cleared her throat. "Um, Blake…" Worry shown on her features. "He, uh…"

"Resting," Bert confirmed with a nod. "Dude's tough."

She nodded. He was still alive. They hadn't amputated his leg as she thought in her dream. She hadn't lost him. Her relief was obvious.

"Good," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "Cuz, um, we're supposed ta go out tonight, you know." Her eyes started to tear up as she absentmindedly picked at Baby. "On a date."

"He'll be okay." Bert nodded again as he leaned over and rested his shoulder against hers.

"I was just… just worried a little, that's all."

"Don't be," her friend replied, a grim look in his eyes. "Ol' Bert, he'll take care of it. I promise you that."

"That's good." Her voice trailed off as she relaxed against him. She closed her eyes as the two rested upon the pew while frenzied purple-clad figures continued to stream back and forth. "That's good."

* * *

><p>Chaz…<p>

…was all _gangsta_.

When the attack on the Saints' Hideout came, he had been sitting behind the row of pews playing a collectible card game with his friend, Dominic. He heard gunshots outside, but wasn't even aware that the Samedi had attacked until the first group of them burst into the Hideout. When the screaming started, Dominic and he glanced at each other in shock before finally deciding to do something about the enemy gang-members.

The Samedi must not have seen the two young Saints in their haste to descend into Club Purgatory. More than a dozen had passed before Dominic and he started opening fire. They had to defend their territory. They had to defend their fellow Saints. _He_ had to, because…

…because he was _gangsta_.

The first few shots he fired were warning shots. He called out to the enemy to give up, to surrender. But they didn't. They laughed and kept coming, firing back. Finally, he shot one of them, a young black kid. Chaz wounded him in the knee and the boy fell back. Another enemy came and another.

Chaz fired off more rounds, pausing only long enough to reload as Dominic gave him cover. Then it was Dominic's turn to reload. Chaz fired again, finally hitting a Samedi in the chest. The enemy gang-member went down – a young girl with dark hair. He was surprised at first at having killed her, but his shock was short-lived. More and more Samedi poured through and he fired and fired and fired. He did it…

…because he was _gangsta_.

Then suddenly the Boss appeared screaming bloody murder and blew away everybody who wasn't wearing purple. Chaz glanced at Dominic and then the two followed after her only to discover his good friend and fellow crew-member, Mongrel, bleeding to death at the top of the stairs. Dice was there and she was worried. But Chaz wasn't. His adrenaline was going, he was pumped up, and most importantly…

…he was _gangsta_.

He went to find Artemis who was on the parking lot. After a quick discussion, Artemis and some others followed Chaz back into the mission. They gathered up Mongrel and a few other Saints who were wounded and took them downstairs. It seemed better to take them there then to leave them up top where the Samedi could get at them if they attacked again.

Chaos took over.

The Boss was down. She wasn't hurt but, as he overheard Shaundi remark, was on enough drugs to retard a rhino. People were called, homies were brought in. Carlos and Pierce finally showed up and then Saints were running everywhere.

The adrenaline wore off and Chaz learned how many of his fellow Saints had been hurt. Fourteen had been killed and another seven were wounded. The numbers stunned him. How did this happen?

But there was no time for mourning. The wounded had to be tended to and the dead cleared away. This part of Stilwater was generally avoided by the police even with a skirmish as large as this. As long as no civilians were hurt and the property damage kept to a minimum, the cops didn't seem to mind one way or the other if the gangs wiped themselves out.

Chaz didn't understand it. People were dead and the rest of the city didn't care. But he could deal with it…

…because he was _gangsta_.

He was chosen, along with a handful of other Saints, to start moving the bodies. His group was tasked with those inside the mission while a larger group was sent to deal with all of those outside. Solemnly, they set to work. The first body he moved was the young dark haired girl he had shot. This close to her, he realized with a sick feeling that she could be no more than fifteen years old. He killed a kid – granted one that was trying to kill him - but still just a kid.

The next body he came to was the young black boy he had wounded in the knee. Apparently, the Boss came across him and pumped about fifteen rounds into his back; the Boss was, after all, anything but subtle.

There were other bodies, the large men that Dice and Mongrel had fought at the top of the stairs. He needed help dragging them off. Dominic came to his aid as well as another Saint named Mike. They continued on, body after body.

Then they went downstairs.

He came across the bodies of Corey and Travis.

Corey's throat had been slit and Travis had a bloody, rent torso. Corey and Travis had come to the rescue so long ago at Prawn Court when Artemis and he had been trapped by Two-Tone and his thugs while trying to help Dice. Corey and Travis were gone; they shouldn't have been cut down so mercilessly.

He took a deep breath and started forward when Dominic asked if he was okay. It was a strange question. Of course he was okay. After all…

…he was _gangsta_.

Quietly, gently, Chaz and his two companions cleared the bodies of his fellows away.

Next, were the bodies of their attackers. It was here that Dice and Mongrel had apparently made their initial stand against the enemy gang. There were so many dead Samedi.

Chaz learned that Mongrel snapped or something and started murdering everybody. He found it hard to believe. Mongrel was always nice to him. He seemed gentle, quiet. Chaz knew Mongrel could fight - he had seen it twice before – at Shivington and then at Pilsen. Mongrel was good, but this… this was a massacre. The bodies were bent, broken… they were _destroyed_. How could someone he trust so much be such a monster? It wasn't possible, was it?

This time Mike asked if he was okay. He nodded. Why wouldn't he be? What a ridiculous thing to ask. After all…

…he was _gangsta_.

Finally, after a long time they were done. Mike was needed for some other duty and disappeared. Then, Dennis approached. He needed Chaz and Dominic to help with the wounded. They nodded and went to work.

A couple of the Saints were hurt superficially, but others… Chaz couldn't believe the wounds they had. The blood was everywhere. Darcy and two other Saints were tending to the injured. Apparently, the Golden Saint, as he nicknamed the beautiful Darcy, had some medical training. It was a requirement for whatever classes she was taking online.

Still, this was not a hospital and there were no doctors. Darcy wound up getting into an argument with another crew-leader under Pierce. Someone named Tommy. They were arguing about antibiotics or some such. Tommy said the wounded weren't sick with a cold, but Darcy said they needed prophylactic something or other for all the gunshots and cuts.

Pierce finally came and took Tommy away, then Darcy and the others went back to work. They were sewing up wounds and digging out bullets.

Halfway through, Tubby, a large Saint with a rotund belly who had been shot several times, starting twitching and seizing. They tried to help, but there was nothing to be done. His wounds were too great, his blood lost too severe. Tubby died right in front of Chaz.

Then Chaz noticed Mongrel was there and being tended as well. Would Mongrel start convulsing? Would Chaz see his friend die right before his eyes as well?

Darcy finally looked over at him and stopped what she was doing. She pulled him aside and asked if he was okay. Why was everyone asking that? Of course he was okay. After all, he was…

A tickle brushed down his cheek.

…he was…

Chaz put a hand up to touch his face and pulled it back. It was wet.

…he was…

…_crying._

Then everything fell apart.

His chest felt tight. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see straight. He fell to the ground sobbing. Dominic came over and Darcy said something to him. Dominic took him to a back room where spare car parts were stored and sat with him as he cried and cried until his face hurt.

He shuddered as fear and shame took hold. He wasn't brave like he pretended to be. He was sick to his stomach with fear at almost dying and regret at what he had done to stay alive.

He murdered people, murdered children…

All of the blood, all of the death, all of the _madness_…

Chaz wasn't tough, he wasn't alright, and most ashamedly of all…

…he certainly _wasn't_ gangsta.

* * *

><p>"We need these cars cleared out now!" Artemis ordered as he organized the defenses on the lot behind the Hideout.<p>

"Ya heard the man!" Stammer bellowed out. "Get ya asses movin'!" The giant Saint coordinated the efforts of his crew with those of Pierce's.

Anthony, Stammer's second, nodded as he and three others drove the last of the intact Samedi Danvilles off the lot. Carlos, standing near the entrance of Club Purgatory, was already on the phone to one of the Saints' contacts at the Chop-Shop in the northern part of Little Shanghai in the Chinatown District. The Saints would at least get something for them.

Artemis was watching them leave when someone called out to him.

"Yo, Artemis!"

He turned at his name and looked for the speaker. It was Mabry Dolge, a decent enough member of the gang, and the only one of Tommy's four-man crew that Artemis could stand. Mabry was coming forward carrying an object in his hands. At the sight of it, the hairs stood up on his neck.

It was the rifle of the sniper from the rooftop.

Activity stopped as Mabry solemnly marched towards him, stopped and held the weapon out.

How many of his fellow Saints had been killed by that rifle? Seven? No, six. Steve-O had been assigned lookout duty on the rooftop and the sniper, obviously trained in hand-to-hand combat, had choked the boy to death. Artemis stared at it for a few moments then realized the lot had gotten deathly still.

He blinked and looked Mabry in the eyes.

"I don't want it," was all he could say. The scene stayed quiet for a moment, then…

"Bust it on the ground!" someone shouted.

"Melt it ta scrap!" cried another Saint.

"Use it to kill the Samedi!" a third voice demanded.

"Hold up, hold up!" Stammer called out putting his hands up to calm down the encroaching Saints. He took the rifle from Mabry then turned to Artemis. "Ya don't really want it? It's your trophy – you killed the sniper."

Artemis turned away in disgust. "Do what you want with it. I'll have no part of it."

Stammer nodded, then called out, "Jared! Get over here!"

The assembled gang-members paused and began murmuring to themselves as a Saint who'd been cleaning debris on the far side of the lot started moving forward. He was a solidly built young man of average height in his early twenties wearing black jeans and a purple hoodie. He had caramel-colored skin, short black hair in a military cut and steel-grey eyes that missed nothing. He nodded as he got closer.

"Sir?"

"Ya any good with this?" Stammer asked as he handed the weapon over.

The Saint named Jared looked at the weapon clinically. "Semi-automatic, 425 meters per second. Effective range about 2000 meters, could probably go over 2 miles." He examined the clip. "Five round detachable box magazine." He tested the weight and looked back at Stammer. "Probably about thirty pounds. No sir, not a bad weapon at all. Cost is probably about $7500." He offered the weapon back.

"I ain't lookin' to buy it," Stammer said slowly. "I'm askin' if ya can use it."

"Sir," Jared spoke plainly, "if there's a barrel at the end with a hole big enough for a bullet to come out, I can use it." He glanced at the rifle again. "I prefer something bigger – flamethrower, maybe a mini-gun like the one Maero's rumored to possess." He paused a moment. "If it were up to me, I'd cut off the sniper's head, smash the hell outta the rifle, put both in a duffel bag and leave the duffel at the closest Samedi controlled business. I'd make it a statement." He looked back up at Stammer. "But, I'll defer to you, sir."

"I getcha meanin'," Stammer said with a nod. "But we were hit hard and needta use every resource we can at the moment." He stared at the young man and indicated the rifle in his hands. "You take that, clean it, fix it, whatever. Gather what ammo and supplies that murderous punk had and you take care of it. When we need to use it, you be ready, ya hear me?"

"Understood, sir." Jared straightened a bit at the shoulders and gave a curt nod before going off to collect the deceased sniper's gear.

The gathered Saints had paused their work to learn what would become of the weapon. The discussion over, they started back on their assigned duties.

A sudden screeching echoed across the lot as a tricked-out black Hammerhead with silver highlights sped up to the entrance from the east. Several Saints, still jumpy after the attack this morning pulled out handguns and melee weapons.

Artemis glanced over and immediately recognized the vehicle. He looked around and quickly called out.

"Whoa, whoa!" He started waving off the aggressive gang-bangers. "I know her! She's cool!"

"Yeah!" Stammer confirmed as he followed Artemis to the muscle car that pulled up near the double doors. "It's just little Venus."

As if on cue, a tall brunette exited the vehicle.

"Spade!" Artemis greeted as he trotted up to her.

"The hell happened here, Artemis?" she asked, concern marring her beautiful features.

"The Samedi attacked." Artemis' brief reply was right to the point.

"Everyone okay?" She looked around at the mayhem. "Anyone hurt?"

"We lost fourteen Saints already…" Artemis began.

Spade looked him in the eyes, shock evident. "Dice?"

"Lil Sister's fine," Artemis assured her. "Few bruises, not much else. She was one of the lucky ones."

"Tell her about Junior," Stammer interjected quietly.

She glanced at Stammer then looked back to Artemis. "WHAT? BLAKE?" Her eyes widened in panic. "Oh god, no!" She paled considerably and stumbled back a step nearly losing her balance. Artemis reached out, catching her before she fell.

"No, no, Spade," he said quickly. "He's alright. He'll make it. He was just hurt. Let's go inside."

"I'll finish clean-up out here," Stammer announced as his two friends entered the Hideout.

…

Artemis and Spade spotted Dice sitting with Bert in a pew on the ground floor. Upon seeing her friend, Dice ran over to Spade and slammed into her with a big hug.

"Hey," Spade joked, trying to keep the mood light. "I heard you kicked some major ass."

Dice nodded into her shoulder.

"Let's go see how they're doing downstairs," Artemis suggested. They agreed and began the trek down.

Upon reaching the lowest level, their pace slowed. The carnage was evident. As the four fellows looked around, something caught Bert's eye.

"Hey," he said, "I gotta go take care of something."

Artemis nodded as he left then turned in time to see Darcy approach. She looked haggard. There were bloodstains all over her clothes. She didn't normally participate in the Saints' crimes or shoot-outs, but seeing her like this… no one could ever doubt her courage or loyalty.

"We lost Tubby, too," she spoke quietly.

"That's fifteen," Artemis said with a shake of his head.

"Blake?" Dice asked quietly.

Darcy nodded with a weary smile and indicated to one of the figures laying behind her.

Dice looked back at the others.

"Well, go on," ordered Artemis. She smiled and went to her wounded friend.

Artemis, Darcy and Spade watched as the short girl knelt down and began speaking in hushed tones to Mongrel, who weakly answered back.

"Did you know that she has a cousin living in south Florida?" Spade said suddenly. The others turned to look at her. "After her parents' murders back in '06, the authorities contacted her. Ya know, let'er know about Dice, uh, Margaret. See if she would take her and stuff." Her eyes narrowed. "She didn't want her. Too much hassle, she said. Told it straight to Dice's face at the funeral."

Spade shook her head, then her eyes narrowed. "Who does that? To a kid?" She cleared her throat. "One day, after I find my mom, the bitch who left me…" She smiled grimly. "Yeah, I plan on going down to Florida, finding that useless sack of shit and doing the human race a favor." She began nodding to herself.

A long pause ensued, then Spade spoke again.

"Anyway." She turned to Darcy and held out her hand. Darcy raised an eyebrow then slowly took the offered hand. "I don't like you," Spade admitted.

"Excuse me?" Darcy asked in surprise.

"Always thought you were a snooty, stuck-up bitch," Spade continued on with a grin. Then a serious look shown on her features. "But you did something good for me today. You helped the two people that are most important to me." She nodded. "For that, I thank you. You need anything, ever, you just call me, okay? I won't forget this."

"Um, okay," muttered Darcy.

Spade nodded again to them both and then went to join her friends.

"What?" Darcy wondered.

"Just accept it, and move on," Artemis advised.

Darcy shoulders shook with a light chuckle.

"How are you, though?" he finally asked.

"Tired," she admitted. "But I'm okay." Then a thought resurfaced. "William, Chaz is upset; he's in the back."

"I'll speak to him in a moment," Artemis pulled his lady close. "Right now I got someone much more important to worry about." He felt her smile into his shoulder as he held her tight.

* * *

><p>Bert moved quickly amongst the bodies, both living and dead, that littered the floor of Club Purgatory. He finally reached his target sitting up against the front of the bar: it was Tonya.<p>

Soot and bits of concrete was in her kinky-curly, light brown hair and flecks of dirt were smeared on her face. Her left knee was skinned up and she was currently holding a thick piece of gauze over her left elbow. The pained look she had on her face vanished immediately as she noticed him approach.

"Hey, you!" She called out to him in her sing-song. She started to move, but he waved her down.

"No, no," he admonished as he knelt beside her. "Just stay put." He looked her over carefully. "Aw, geez."

"Pfft, hon," she said lightly. "This is all superficial."

"You get beat up?" he asked, concern in his voice.

"No, no!" she laughed. "My big butt can't walk a damn in flats. Stilettos, I got no problem with, but these…" She indicated a pair of expensive looking shoes on the floor next to her. "I fell down trying to get to cover."

"Your butt's not…" Bert started then shook his head. "Where the hell was Carlos, hm? Why'd he leave you there?"

She blinked in confusion. "I'm in Shaundi's crew, honey. Under Rory. I thought you knew that. Carlos doesn't assign me jobs."

"But still, if you're with him…" Bert shook his head. "I mean, I wouldn't just leave you alone like that, unless I guess you were waiting for him."

"You are cute, hon, you really are," Tonya said with a smile. "But I'll be damned if I know just what you're yammering about half the time."

"Doesn't matter." Bert pulled out his cell. "Gimme your number so I can program it into my phone."

Tonya shook her head with a grin. "So that's what it takes?" She sniggered as she gave him her number. "Thanks for not waiting _too_ long."

"What're you talking about?" He wasn't following her.

"I saw you on the lot this morning," she told him. "All commando. You might have been shot up. I'm glad you didn't wait until after that."

"Commando?"

"You know what I mean, honey. Everyone says that's how you roll." She grinned. "'Bert's the first one to charge in.' 'You need help, make sure Bert's got your back.' I saw you mowing down Samedi and threatening that sniper-guy. I like that – commando."

"I guess," Bert shrugged. "You seem pretty calm about everything, though."

"Honey, I've been around violence for a long while. You know my family, right?" When he shook his head in the negative, she continued. "Bruemar? Like David Bruemar? No?" She leaned back. "Well, that's good then, I guess. Scares off too many guys as it is and I do like you. You've always been nice to me."

"Well, I like you a lot, too," he admitted as he sat down next to her. "Shit, I would've asked you out myself, but ya know there's Carlos."

She looked at him again. "What is this Carlos thing you keep yammering on about?"

"You guys are going out."

She blinked at him then burst out laughing. "Oh my god, honey! You are too cute." She shook her head. "Sweet little Carlos? I mean he's nice, I guess, but sooo not my type."

"But Stella said you were talking about the Feed Dog concert," he said, confused.

"I did tell him," she agreed. "My cousin Tiff went out with his older brother back in the day. I mean, we're friends but that's it."

"So, you like…" He pointed at himself.

"Like, I said, hon," she said with a wink, "I'm all about commando."

"Well, shit. I mean that's cool. Awesome actually."

She stared at him and shook her head. "You're cute, hon, you really are, but sometimes you just yammer too much."

Bert just sat there and smiled. He knew as bad as things had been today that he shouldn't be feeling as good as he did right now, but somehow he just couldn't help it.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, that's finally out of the way… Next chap, the Samedi are front and center again then we're back here again with our favorite little heroes… er, criminals.<strong>

**Thanks for reading.**


	25. Ep 3: Retaliation, Part 7

**Whoo-Hoo! Twenty-five chapters and over 100K words! Go me!**

**I know I've done the 'gushing' thing before, so I'll try to keep it to a minimum this time.**

**However, I do want to thank some people first:**

**First the Terrific Trio known collectively as _johnnysgirls. _Individually they are _shadow182angel_, _Double H19_, and _HeartWritingM,_ and are some of the nicest people here and great writers to boot. You guys just make FF a fun experience - thank you so much!**

**Next, a big thanks to my bud High Mage Lady Hawkmoon for tolerating my numerous queries and beta-reading when asked. I appreciate it!**

**Finally, everyone that has posted a comment, read, kept up on, or just happened to glance at my fic - thanks a lot for taking the time to do so.**

**Okay, gushing's over with... Here's my latest bit.**

* * *

><p><strong>Episode 3: Retaliation<strong>

**Part 7**

* * *

><p><strong>Harrowgate, Saint's Row District, Stilwater<strong>

**Hotel Chauvenet **

**Sixth Floor, Room 618**

**Sunday, May 8, 9:03am**

* * *

><p>Jean San-Pierre finished arranging the elaborate breakfast that room service had brought up. Though it was a warm spring morning, a light, cool breeze was blowing from the northwest passing over the river that separated Northern and Southern Stilwater. It was pleasant enough that he decided to enjoy his meal with his lovely companion on the balcony overlooking the shops lining the riverfront down below.<p>

As if the thought of her was a magical summons, she appeared.

She was an elegant looking woman with light bronze skin and features that hinted at her mixed Thai/English heritage. She was dressed simply in a long white button-down shirt that did little to hide her curves. Being barefoot, she was actually shorter than him at a _mere_ 5'9" tall without her customary three-and-a-half inch stiletto heels. She'd just taken a shower and was using a towel to dry her long, feathery, black hair.

She was a gorgeous creature and, as he masked the hungry desire in his gaze, he found it difficult to believe she was also a highly skilled microbiologist.

"Tera, my dear," he purred. "So good to see you awake. I hope all is well."

"Jean," she greeted with a smile, her voice husky and smooth. She stopped drying her hair, draped the towel over the back of one of the chairs on the balcony and strolled over to him. "It's good to see you, too."

Her hands snaked under his suit-coat as she wrapped her arms around his torso. She angled into him as she pulled him close. She nipped his bottom lip then skimmed her tongue along the seam of his mouth. He parted his lips allowing her entrance and very briefly let her control the kiss. He then weaved his fingers through her hair, clenched firmly and forced her head back as he retook control. He thrust into her mouth, pillaging, demanding. She moaned and met him, teeth and tongue.

His free hand wormed under her shirt, pulling it down and away from her shoulder as he slid his fingertips over the soft delicate skin of her back. He eased away from her kiss and raked his lips and teeth down her neck and then onto her smooth shoulder as she moaned again.

She pressed into him and pulled him closer, muttering into his jacket.

He leaned back and looked her in the eyes.

"What was that, my dear?"

"I said that I'm lucky to have found you," she whispered breathlessly, her eyes dancing over his features. "You've been so good to me. I wish there was more that I could do to show my appreciation for everything you've done."

"You've shown your 'appreciation' several times, my pretty one," he reminded her with a sly grin. "In very interesting ways. I've told you not to worry about it. You're happiness and security is all I care about."

"I know," she said quietly, closing her eyes and laying her head against his neck. "It's just I'm worried about the consequences once you start digging up the evidence of Ultor's experiments."

The muscles in his shoulders and back tightened as his jaw clenched.

_This again._

He was in no mood for her self-righteous humanitarian antics right now. Normally he could tolerate her oft-voiced desire to bring down the large corporate conglomerate. Late last night, however, he'd been informed of the Samedi's failed attack on the Hideout of the Third Street Saints and the loss of Micas, one of his top soldiers.

An image flashed through his head – his hands firmly clasped about her soft throat, crushing her windpipe just to silence her. The terrified look of panic on her face as he throttled her, watching with grim pleasure as she struggled against him, as the life slowly drained from her eyes. Then tossing her lovely corpse over the railing and watching as she sailed down to the hard concrete below. She'd no doubt appear as an angel descending from heaven, her white shirt fluttering about her.

The thought ran through his mind – briefly.

"Jean?"

He blinked, his face blank, as he focused on reality again.

"Pardon me?" he asked.

"You tensed up." She had pulled back and was looking at him, worry marring her features. "What is it? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, no, my pet," he recovered quickly. He forced a caring, compassionate look onto his face. "I must say, though, it feels as if I've betrayed you - failed you - and I seem to continue to fail you daily."

"What do you mean?"

"You've been so patient with me," he said with a shrug as he looked away. "I'm ashamed to admit that I've been so busy with the Samedi lately that I've been unable to devote the time to your problems that I promised I would." He shook his head. "I've let you down."

"Jean, no," she said as she reached up and turned his face toward hers. "Look at me."

He wanted to smile at how easily she fell for his deceptions; rather he disguised it with a false look of concern.

"I told you before, you've done so much already." She smiled at him. "Ultor can wait. It's best to be cautious until you can focus your full attention on them anyway." A frown appeared at the corners of her mouth. "What is it that's causing so many problems with your…" she searched for an appropriate word for the Samedi, "um, organization, anyway?"

This time there was no need for him to deceive her.

"In truth, my precious…" he began as he stepped away from her then pulled a chair out for her to sit down. "…the current problem is the Third Street Saints."

She took the proffered seat and picked up a fork to eat the meal he had laid out for them.

"What about them?"

"Their leader seems to be causing a bit of a stir," he went on, sitting across from her. He poured her some coffee.

"Their leader?" she began, a look of guilt appearing momentarily. He noticed.

"Is something wrong?"

"Hmm?" She shook her head with a slight smile. "No, no. Nothing. Er, go on."

She was lying; San-Pierre was a master of it and could tell quite easily. _What_ she was lying about, however, he could not decipher. Mentally putting the matter aside for now, he continued.

"She is more resilient than the General thought." He nodded with a grimace. "Yes, she's quite a problem."

Tera paled slightly, taking small nibbles of her food.

"Is… is there anything I could do to help?" she asked.

His brow furrowed. It was an odd question.

"You've aided my endeavors more than enough," he said, a genuine smile came to his lips. "That mixture of Loa Dust and paralytic agent you synthesized for the micro-darts was highly successful in all the tests I ran. The effects of the weapons I developed to be incorporated into the voodoo-dolls are enhanced even more because of you." He nodded again. "Once they are put into use in the field, they will make the Samedi's efforts of removing the lesser gangs from the city that much easier. After we have control of the city, I promise to turn my full resources to removing this 'Ultor' problem you have."

* * *

><p>Tera sat up in bed, the sheet pulled around her waist and chest. She absentmindedly brushed her index finder against her pursed lips as she watched Jean get dressed.<p>

He'd gotten a call from his bodyguard, Jaqual, that there was an impromptu meeting called by some of the other Samedi. He apologized for having to cut their rendezvous short and told her he had to meet up with someone nicknamed 'The Jamaican'. Jean's tone indicated that he had little respect for the man, or maybe, she hoped, that he preferred staying with her as opposed to going to this meeting.

Regardless, he said it was necessary and would soon be gone. Nervously, she watched him as he straightened his tie and smoothed his jacket.

Did he suspect anything she had done? Jean was highly intelligent and seemed to possess the ability to always know what she was thinking. Did he know what she was doing a year ago?

She glanced over to the nightstand where she kept her old Ultor security badge. The label read:

**DR. T. PATRICK**

**SCIENCE DEPT**

She had placed it there as a reminder of why she quit.

The memories flooded back. She had been content with her position at Ultor. She excelled in her field, microbiology, and was promoted several times. She enjoyed many benefits of the corporate powerhouse. She was happy, excited even, to be a part of creating '_A brighter future and a better life…_' the motto of the conglomerate itself. She worked, all the while being blissfully ignorant of Ultor's true intentions.

Then a year ago she was approached by _him,_ by Dane Vogel.

What Mr Vogel wanted done, what he asked _her_ to do…

Her hand clenched into a fist. That goddamned, shit-fuck bastard-ass prick… She shook her head. She didn't need her old, inner city background to come bubbling to the surface at the moment. She was elegant now, refined. Like Jean was.

Jean. She should really tell him about all of it, how all of this was her fault, how she was involved with the Leader of the Third Street Saints.

He said something to her.

"What?" she asked as she blinked.

He leaned down toward her, apprehension in his eyes.

"My pet, what is wrong with you?" She loved when he called her that. "You seem preoccupied."

She brushed the back of her hand against his cheek. It felt good to have someone like him.

"Just worried about you."

"Oh?" He smiled.

"I always fret when you're gone." She sighed. "Be careful out there."

He searched her eyes, but she wasn't worried. What she said was the truth after all – she did fret when he was away. He seemed to believe her.

"Then take care until I can come back."

"Which will be when?" She hated asking. She knew he was very important and very busy. She knew he wasn't always able to see her, but that didn't stop her from missing him when he was gone.

"As soon as I am able," he whispered quietly, leaning forward. "After all, there are so many reasons for me to return." He pulled her forward, pressing his lips against hers. He was always so passionate. She gave herself over to the kiss. Then, regretfully, he pulled away from her.

He winked at her and, like that, he was gone.

She smiled to herself as she lay back down. She never thought she'd have to ally with a street gang to get back at Ultor, but she was glad to have hooked up with someone she knew cared so deeply for her.

* * *

><p><em>That needy woman is starting to get on my nerves,<em> San-Pierre thought darkly as he rode with Jaqual to the Samedi meeting. He smiled as a second thought surfaced . _At least the sex is fantastic._

The green Status Quo drove east along Hancock Street passing through the Mills, then Pilsen, and finally the Black Bottom Neighborhood. Down the hill to the southeast, the golden glowing letters of the _Phantom Caverns_ came into view.

The limo, however, passed the turn for the tourist trap and continued due east following Hancock Street to its end, stopping at a small security booth. The guard looked briefly at the vehicle, nodded and raised the barrier. The limo drove onto the lot of the _Miller's Plastic Co._ Turning north, the vehicle skirted the main warehouse and loading dock. They passed a few legitimate workers as well as several members of the Stilwater Biker Club.

San-Pierre had heard that among the casualties of the failed raid yesterday were Skeeve, the leader of the Biker Club, as well as Harley and Marty, two of the club's prominent members. In one fell swoop, the Biker Club was left leaderless; the surviving members were easily incorporated into the Samedi rank-and-file and now served as low quality, but cheap enforcers.

They passed a building in the back with the words _Miller's Plastics, since 1820_ on it and parked near three other green vehicles. It appeared as if both Taibot and the Jamaican were here. This should be fun.

…

Entering the building, San-Pierre was underwhelmed at its condition. There was debris everywhere. Barrels were lined haphazardly along the eastern wall. Shelves, both metal and wooden were in need of repair – some leaning so badly they were dangerously close to falling over. Broken crates and containers were scattered around the center of the room.

He was growing annoyed at the decrepit conditions of the sites his fellow Samedi chose for their meetings; the fact that there wasn't a central Hideout for the Samedi meant there wasn't a single place their enemies could target. But still, there had to be someplace better than this.

The drama playing itself out in the office to the north of the room drew his attention from the rancid place. Jaqual and he headed toward the noise. Two Samedi soldiers were guarding the entryway and nodded to him as he came into the middle of a 'discussion'.

"…pathetic attempts of your men!" the Jamaican was yelling. "I don't know why the General puts faith in you at all!"

Taibot had lost a lot of men during the raid, but probably the biggest cause for concern was the failed apprehension of the Leader of the Third Street Saints herself. During _that_ debacle, both Teege and Darco, two of the Samedi personally trained by the Jamaican had been killed and Mr Sunshine was gravely injured. The General himself was even placed in danger by the Saints' Boss. It had been a serious blow to everyone's ego.

Taken in a certain light, the failure of Teege and Darco could be laid at the Jamaican's feet. It was this frustration that was fueling his current rant.

San-Pierre smiled as Jaqual and he entered the small office.

The Jamaican turned as he noticed them, a furious look on his face.

"So, you're finally gracing us with your presence, San-Pierre," he growled.

"Anything to help my fellow…" San-Pierre began, but he was quickly cut off.

"You will shut your cursed mouth and be silent," the Jamaican continued on.

A scowl crossed San-Pierre's face. "Excuse me? Just what…"

"I said SILENCE!" the Jamaican screamed. "No more of your ramblings, your tricks. You will be quiet and you will know your place. If not, I will teach it to you."

San-Pierre forced a blank look onto his face as inwardly he seethed with anger and contempt for his fellow lieutenant.

"I'm listening," he said quietly.

"For once," the Jamaican muttered. He indicated a shaken Taibot who sulked against the back wall - his lip was bleeding and his left eye seemed to be swelling shut. "The two of you failed."

"I beg to differ…" San-Pierre started, but was interrupted again.

"Quiet!" the Jamaican hissed. "I'm done listening to you. The attack on Shivington will proceed tomorrow morning as planned."

Confusion was on San-Pierre's face. "Do you think that's wise?"

"The General grows weary of failure and excuses!" The Jamaican stepped forward getting dangerously close to him. "There will be no more of either."

"I understand your concerns," San-Pierre said, trying to placate his irate companion. "But attacking immediately will push our reserves at the moment." He shook his head. "It's not a wise move. I would wait for things to calm down, regroup our people."

"The Saints are wounded," the Jamaican snarled.

"Which is the time an animal is most dangerous," San-Pierre explained. "I know you wish to avenge the loss of your men…"

The Jamaican lunged forward, grabbing him by the neck, his grip unbelievably strong. He spun around and slammed San-Pierre into the wall, hate in his eyes. "You know nothing, foolish man!"

San-Pierre was surprised at the Jamaican's attack. Surprised but not worried, and with good reason.

"You will release Mr. San-Pierre, immediately," Jaqual threatened quietly as he inched forward. "Or you will regret it.

The Jamaican turned to look at the bodyguard as he held San-Pierre in place.

"You are said to carry no firearm, is that not so?"

"That is correct," the bodyguard admitted. "But it hardly matters."

The Jamaican chuckled. "Then you can't stop me. I am known as the best fighter, the best warrior of all of the Samedi, better than even the General himself."

"That may be true," Jaqual said grimly. "But you forget one thing: I am _not_ a Samedi. I was hired directly by Mr. San-Pierre himself. If you do not release him, my reprisal will not be pleasant."

The Jamaican looked past the bodyguard and gave a quick nod. The sound of rapid footfalls indicated the two Samedi soldiers that had been guarding the entrance were approaching.

Jaqual tensed at the sound and spoke quickly.

"This is your last warning. Release Mr. San-Pierre or suffer the consequences."

The Jamaican grinned smugly. "You are in no position to make demands." One Samedi pulled out a Vice9 and put the business end to the back of the bodyguard's head as the other grabbed his left arm. "Now take him out of here."

The Samedi with the gun nodded. "As you wish…" He was unable to finish his sentence.

In a blur of movement, San-Pierre's bodyguard struck. He shifted his weight quickly to the left, reaching up with his right hand and grabbed the wrist of the man holding the gun at his head. Simultaneously, he twisted his left arm around breaking the grip of the second Samedi.

He pull forward and down on the first Samedi's wrist, breaking his enemy's arm on his own shoulder. The gun fell from the Samedi's grip. As he spun to face the second Samedi, Jaqual reached out with his right hand and snatched the falling weapon _out of mid-air_.

Continuing his momentum, he slammed the pommel of the pistol into the second Samedi's face, knocking him over. As his second opponent was falling, Jaqual cocked the hammer back and fired once catching the man in the side of the head, killing him before he even hit the ground.

Jaqual spun quickly and pulled the trigger again, hitting the original owner of the pistol square between the eyes.

In less than three seconds both Samedi were dead.

The bodyguard then turned his attention back to the stunned Jamaican, pulling the gun up. "You had your chance."

"Jaqual, stop!" San-Pierre ordered.

Jaqual hesitated, but kept the gun trained on the Jamaican's head.

"Perhaps now we can talk about this," San-Pierre said to the Jamaican with a smirk, his eyes narrowed. The Jamaican scowled a moment then released San-Pierre with a huff.

"I'm running the attack tomorrow on Shivington. My men will do this - not yours." He glanced at San-Pierre and Taibot. "The two of you will stay out of it." He turned to go and got to the doorway as Jaqual called out to him.

"I hope for the continued sake of the Samedi," the bodyguard said, "that you lead your men better than you did these two." He ejected the mostly full magazine from the pistol, cocked the slide to expel the bullet in the chamber and tossed the empty gun at the Jamaican's feet. "Otherwise, your failure is guaranteed."

The Jamaican looked at him with contempt, turned and left, leaving the pistol where it had landed.

Taibot turned to look at San-Pierre. "Why ya do dat, mon?" He had an incredulous look on his face as he shook his head. "Ya mon here had the drop on'im. He coulda gotten rid of'im!"

"No, no," San-Pierre muttered with a shake of his head. "As much as I would have liked to see Jaqual put him down like the dog he is, the Jamaican is still one of the General's favorites." He glanced at Taibot with a smirk. "To ruin him will take a bit more subtlety."

"If dat's what ya tink," Taibot replied looking downward. "Ya always were da best of da Samedi at dat." There was a momentary pause.

"I'll take that as a compliment," San-Pierre said with a smile as he turned to Taibot. "I think it's time we ended our feud and looked forward to dealing with the Jamaican." He held his hand out toward his fellow lieutenant.

Taibot hesitated for a second then finally reached up and grasped his hand. "Fine den. But what will we do about'im?"

"Oh, leave that to me, my friend," San-Pierre said with a dark grin. "Leave it all to me."

* * *

><p><strong>Shivington Neighborhood, Projects District, Stilwater<strong>

**Monday, May 9, 9:31am**

San-Pierre stood with Jaqual in an alley located near the southern border of the neighborhood. Hidden behind some abandoned homes, San-Pierre regarded their 'guest'.

The young man with them was lanky with a mess of curly black hair and wearing a purple _Skeeters_ jersey with white jeans and purple tennis shoes. He was bleeding from his nose and was holding a hand up to his swollen lip as he leaned heavily against a wall. His name was…

"Taivey?"

"Wha..?" the boy asked of the man in the black suit with the green tie.

"Your name? Taivey was it?" San-Pierre inquired.

"Tivey, man, I told you," he replied glumly.

"Ah, yes," San-Pierre smirked. "And you are one of the Third Street Saints, correct?"

"Naw, I jus' wear purple cuz I'm royalty," the youth shot back. Jaqual moved forward to strike the boy again, but San-Pierre waved him off.

"No, no, my friend," the Samedi lieutenant said, a gleam in his eye. "This one has spunk. Would that more of our own had his fire." He turned back to the young Saint. "Now, then, for the _third_ time, I ask that you call your superiors for me." He held out the cell phone Jaqual had taken from the boy a few moments ago.

"And for the third time, jack-off, I'm tellin' you this: I ain't callin' no one! I ain't gonna betray nobody."

"I merely want you to warn your boss and the rest of your little Saints."

"Warn'em?" The young man looked at the Samedi suspiciously. "Warn'em about what?"

"An impending attack on Shivington against your gang, your places of business."

"Attack? On the Saints?" He leaned forward. "From who, the Ronin?"

"Alas, no," San-Pierre said with a shake of his head. "An attack from my own crewmembers. From the Samedi."

The Saint's eyes widened. "You-you're betraying your own gang? Why?"

"The organizer of this ill-advised expedition goes by the moniker of the Jamaican," San-Pierre said. "He himself won't be there, but his top men will." He smirked. "I think this attack is a mistake and I'm seeking to, um, correct it, as it were."

"This is on the up-and-up? For real?"

"Yes, young man," San-Pierre nodded. "It is completely on the… 'up-and-up' as you say." He held the phone out again. "This attack will be happening in but a few moments. Now will call your Boss?"

"I don't know her number," the young Saint admitted. "I ain't... I ain't that high up. But I'm in Pierce's crew. I can call him." He reached for the phone.

"Just tell me which button to press," the Samedi said holding the phone just out of Tivey's reach. "And we'll put this on speaker so there'll be no trickery on your part."

"Number three."

San-Pierre pressed the number and flipped the speaker on. The phone rang a few times, then…

"_Hello?"_

"Pierce? Hey it's Tivey from Shivington."

"_What's up, man?"_

"Hey listen, I got some news," Tivey explained. He glanced over at San-Pierre who nodded. "Uh, I think there's gonna be a hit… another one. From the Samedi… uh, over here at Shivington. Like right now."

"_What the hell you talking about? Are you serious?"_ Pierce's voice took on a worried tone.

San-Pierre nodded again as Tivey replied, "Yeah, pretty sure, man."

"_How… where you getting your information?"_ Pierce asked.

"Uh," Tivey looked over at San-Pierre again. The Samedi shook his head as he put a finger up to his lips. "A pretty reliable source." San-Pierre smiled and winked at the young Saint's answer.

"_Alright, alright. Uh, shit!"_ Rustling could be heard in the background. _"I'll make some calls. Thanks, man. Okay be careful. I'll get some of the crew there quick as I can."_

"Okay, Pierce," Tivey called out as San-Pierre clicked the phone off.

"There now, see?" The Samedi looked quite pleased.

"You didn't have to…" the Saint started. "I mean, I would'a cooperated if you'd of told me what you wanted." He felt his swollen lip again. "I mean if you're wantin' to join up with us, it's all good."

San-Pierre tilted his head. "Join up with you?"

"Yeah, I mean that's why you gave up your gang, right?"

"Gave it up?" San-Pierre laughed at that. "Oh, no no." He leaned forward. "I'm not giving up anything."

"Then why…?" the Saint seemed confused.

"I want the Jamaican to fail, not the Samedi as a whole." He reached into his jacket and quickly pulled out an NR4. "Once you Saints wipe out the Jamaican's little thugs…" He flicked the safety off and aimed the pistol at Tivey whose eyes widened in fear. "I'll have no further use for any of you."

_**BLAM!**_

The bullet impacted the young Saint square in the chest, coating his purple jersey with a dark stain. He slammed back into the wall and slowly slid to the ground. His chest shuddered once then he lay still – San-Pierre, his head tilted, watched in fascination as the boy expired. He was quiet for a moment, then…

"Well, now, I think it's time for breakfast, don't you?" he turned to his bodyguard who regarded him solemnly. "Oh don't give me that look, Jaqual. I know that it disturbs your sense of fair play, but we couldn't have the boy informing his superiors about us."

"As you say, Mr. San-Pierre," the bodyguard muttered with a nod.

The two men went back to the limo and got in.

"On second thought, I think I'm going to skip breakfast and go right for dessert," the Samedi announced with a grin. He pressed the button on the intercom. "Joshua, take us to the Hotel Chauvenet."

"_Yes, Mr. San-Pierre,"_ was the chauffer's reply.

* * *

><p>Tera opened the apartment door and was stunned to see Jean standing in the hallway.<p>

"You're back so soon?" she asked, the surprise in her voice was evident.

"Would you rather I come back another day, my pet?" He poked his head in and glanced around. "You aren't entertaining another lover, perhaps, hmmm?" He winked at her.

"No!" she laughed. "Get your ass in here." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. A genuine smile appeared as she opened them again. "Er, I mean, please come in. Sorry, the inner city kid wants to get out."

"Don't apologize, pretty one," he said as he stepped inside. He pulled her close. "Get dressed. I want to take you out."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Are you sure it's safe?" She glanced cautiously out the large windows facing the northeast where the _Phillips Building_, the icon of Ultor's power in Stilwater, loomed.

"Ah, let's not worry about that, dear Tera," he smiled. "Let's just enjoy the day. Maybe have some decent food for a change. I'll even take you to the _Shops of Sonterra_ along the riverfront down below. I here there's a new _Impressions_ clothing store that just opened."

She couldn't help but smile. "I take it the meeting yesterday went well then?"

His eyes twinkled. "Hmm, let's just say that I think I'd like to spend the next week here with you at Hotel Chauvenet."

"The next week?" she exclaimed. "Oh, Jean!" She held him close, barely containing her excitement.

Tera just couldn't get over that in a city as dangerous and cold as Stilwater could be, she'd been able to meet up with someone like Jean San-Pierre. She really was so very lucky.

* * *

><p><strong>Ah, San-Pierre… you're such a slimy bastard.<strong>


	26. Ep 3: Retaliation, Part 8

**Our favorite little criminals are back now for our next chap – enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Episode 3: Retaliation<strong>

**Part 8**

* * *

><p><strong>Shivington Neighborhood, Projects District, Stilwater<strong>

**Monday, May 9, 2011, 9:42am**

* * *

><p>Artemis drove his late 70s model Stiletto, painted Saints purple and Tobias white and affectionately nicknamed Clementine, through the streets of southern Shivington. A low beep from the breast pocket of his vest indicated that his cell phone's battery was low.<p>

"Here," he said to his companion in the front passenger seat. "Plug this into that cord." The Stiletto had a slot for a cigarette lighter, but since he didn't smoke, Artemis had gotten a phone charger from _DDT Unlimited_, and used the car's battery to occasionally recharge his cell.

His silent passenger, one leg propped over the side door as her foot dangled out, looked at the phone, took it and plugged it in. She then refocused her attention back on the road ahead, lost in thought. It wasn't like her to be quiet for so long.

Artemis glanced at the short blonde girl, his concern evident. Since the aftermath of the attack at the Hideout in Bavogian Plaza two days ago, her demeanor had drastically changed. He'd hoped it was just shock at the Samedi's vicious attack – it had been the deadliest encounter the Saint's had seen since the Boss came back last year. Fifteen Saints had been lost and a half-dozen more wounded, the latter consisting of the girl's best friend.

He wanted to get her away from the Hideout for a while – she'd been sleeping there ever since the attack and he didn't recall her doing much else other than watching over Blake. He hoped she would've been back to her old self, but it didn't seem like that was going to happen just yet. She'd been shaken pretty bad.

Hell, they'd all been shaken, Darcy, Shaundi, Pierce, the Boss… even poor Chaz. His thoughts turned briefly to the youngest member of his crew. It was probably the first time the young man had seen so much death up close – he had been in the middle of it this time. Artemis talked to him briefly afterwards and finally drove the boy home. He made Chaz stay at his aunt's apartment for a few days telling him that he should wait there until the incident blew over – to make sure the cops wouldn't come investigate.

It'd been a lie; the young man had to come to grips with what happened, and Artemis didn't want him having to deal with any more of the gang's clean-up. He tried, as best he knew how, to shield Chaz.

"Can I ask you something?" his passenger suddenly inquired, bringing him back to the present.

"Uh, sure, Lil Sister." He grimaced as soon as he spoke the words. She hated being called that and he was certain she'd gripe – surprisingly, this time it didn't seem as if she cared.

"What do you think about me – honestly?"

Artemis turned to look at her. If _ever_ there was a loaded question from a girl…

"Um, how so…?" he tried in an attempt to avoid answering. "In what regards?"

"Do you think… I'm, um, trustworthy, I guess?" She pulled her foot back into the car as she sat upright. "You know, like reliable?"

"Depends on what you mean by that," Artemis replied.

"Huh?"

He didn't want to upset her, but at the same time knew she wanted the truth. He treaded lightly. "Like being on time for meetings and stuff reliable? Cuz if that's what you mean…"

"No, no. None of that shit," she said with a shake of her head. "Like with your life. Like part of your crew."

"There's no reason to even ask that," he answered. "I trust you, Lil Sis… uh, Dice."

She sighed. "I'm asking it wrong, I guess." She seemed to be getting frustrated as she searched for the right words. "Okay, you've been to my place, right? It's not messy… well, not too messy, right?"

"Uh, no… I don't think so." He wasn't sure where this was going.

"I pay my bills on time, right? Uh, mostly on time."

"I guess… I don't keep a record of your finances." He tried to come off light – actually the thought of a gang-banger worrying about paying her gas bill on time _was_ rather amusing.

"I eat sorta regularly and stuff." She looked down at herself. "I'm not, what's the word – sickly, I guess."

"What're you wanting to know? I'm not following you." Artemis was actually becoming a little uncomfortable with the conversation. He was starting to wonder if she had plans to do something drastic.

She paused. "Do you think…? I mean honestly…" Dice paused again, looking very unsure of herself - the leather of her black fingerless gloves crinkled as she nervously flexed her hands into fists. Finally she blurted out, "Do you think I could take care of someone else? Be there for them? I mean if I really tried, I could take care of him, uh… I mean, someone, right?"

Understanding finally dawned on Artemis and a smile crept up on his face.

"Is there anyone in particular, or do you just mean a random person… someone like Tommy, maybe?" Tommy was the leader of one of the crews under Pierce. He was pretty much an asshole and Dice hated him with a passion.

"Wha… Tommy?" She looked over at Artemis, obviously confused. "Why the fuck would I…?"

Artemis snickered despite his best attempt not to.

A scowl came over her features when she saw the amusement in his eyes. She hauled off and punched him solidly in the arm.

"Ow! Not while I'm driving!" Artemis tried to sound stern, but there was still a light tone to his voice.

Dice slumped back down. "God, I fucking ask your advice once… Just once!" She shook her head in annoyance. "I would'a even listened, cuz I really want to know. Shit, serves me right for opening up… like ever…"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Lil Sister," Artemis replied earnestly. "Sometimes it's just too easy…"

"Whatever, just drive…"

They continued along Rosa Drive for a bit then Artemis finally asked, "How often do you run around your apartment naked?"

The question caught her by surprise. "What?"

"I asked you how often you run around your place naked."

"Why the fuck you want ta know that?" she asked with a scowl. "Being a bit of a perv there, Artemis."

"Answer the question."

"Whatever," she sighed. "I dunno. Once in a while, I guess. Darcy know you're into asking girls about weird shit?"

Ignoring her remark, he continued. "And how often do you like to sleep late?"

"Pfft, all the time," she replied as she glanced his way. "Why're you asking all this?"

"Because Blake is an early riser," Artemis answered. "He's usually up by 5:30 in the morning and practicing by 6."

Dice's face scrunched up. "What does that have to do…?"

"Because being there for someone… or more importantly, _with_ someone is more than just taking care of someone when they're injured," he said eyes focused on the road. "It's living with them constantly – putting up with all of their idiosyncrasies, good or bad, and looking past that just to be with them."

"Idiot what…?"

"The way they behave – their habits." He shook his head. "Like with me, I love Darcy to death and couldn't see myself ever without her, y'know? But my god, the woman has this fixation on shoes." He sighed. "We're talking over fifty pairs. Fifty! And you think she could pick them up once in a while, hmmm? Nope. She gets home and plop, off they come… And she leaves them right in the way! How many times I've tripped over those damn things…"

Dice nodded. "But you still love her is what you're saying, despite all her idiot-stuff…"

"Look, everyone is selfish – it's human nature. We all want what we want; that's the way it is." He smirked. "The question is can you put aside enough of what you want to make room for someone else. I'm not saying you have to change or anything. I'm not even saying you have to give up all of your desires or dreams. You just gotta make some room for the other person's choices and desires."

Dice was quiet for a long moment, then, "How… how do I know?" She flicked a loose strand of hair that had blown into her eyes. "I mean… I know I can be pretty selfish - I ain't ever lied about that." She sighed deeply. "I just don't know… I just..." she trailed off as she pondered what he said.

They finally came to their destination: _Brown Baggers._

Barry was out front guarding it.

"Artemis, Dice!" the dark haired Saint exclaimed as they pulled up alongside the building. "Hey, ya come ta relieve me? I'll actually gid off early fer a change?"

"Sorry, son," Artemis said as Dice and he exited. "Just grabbing some desserts. Ya want anything?"

"Thank ya, but no," the large man replied. "I'm by myself today, cuz'a… well, ya know."

Artemis nodded. Too many Saints were out of commission and their numbers were starting to thin. There'd have to be another recruiting session, another canonizing, pretty soon.

"Hey, I got s'more stories fer ya, Dice. Next time we here together, I'll tell'em to ya."

The tiny Saint smiled. "I look forward to hearin' them, Barry," she said then followed Artemis into the convenient store.

Dice stepped over to the racks as Artemis went for the freezer. He picked up a half-dozen of the _Nice Creams_ dairy treats while Dice was looking at the beer.

"I'll never understand the darker stuff," she muttered, mostly to herself. She was currently looking at the _Stout_ brand beer. 'Extra Deadly' was the catch-phrase on the side. She passed it and the _Blarney Beer_ and finally looked at the 40oz bottles towards the end.

"So what do you think?" she asked.

Artemis screwed up his face as he looked at the beers.

"Ehm, the 40oz is the best value for your money, but I prefer the _Blarney Beer_… when I drink it that is. A bit early for it, though, don't you think?"

"No," she sighed. "Not the beer. Me."

"You what?"

"Do you think I can do it? Can I put aside some of my idiot-stuff and actually have room for him?"

Artemis took a deep breath. "To be honest, only you can answer that. You know what you're thinking and what you're feeling." The comment did not seem to console her, so he continued. "I will tell you this, though, the fact that you're even considering it, even asking about it…" He nodded. "That you're asking _me_ about it, says something about you."

A small grin came to her lips. "Really?"

"Yeah, really." He smiled back. "I say try it, see what happens…"

_**KA-WHAM!**_

There was a huge crash outside, followed quickly by the sound of gunfire. The cashier at the counter ducked down with a yelp as the two Saints glanced at each other. They pulled their weapons and charged outside.

Three Danvilles were outside, green with Samedi symbols painted on them in white and black. Nine Samedi soldiers, three from each car, were clambering out, guns drawn.

"For the General!" one large Samedi yelled, then opened up with his SMG. Barry was struck several times and the dark-haired man collapsed in a heap.

"Holy shit, Barry!" Dice screamed as she started firing her SKR-9 Threat. The large Samedi was cut down immediately as was the short white guy next to him. The rest of the Samedi took cover.

Artemis rushed over to Barry as Dice continued firing bursts to give them cover.

"Is he…?" Dice hazarded a quick glance over at Artemis.

He shook his head. "Gone," he replied simply and then he pulled out both of his custom GDHC.50s. "I'm getting really sick of these guys," he muttered, joining the fight.

Artemis leaned out and aimed at the enemy. One Samedi wasn't quite tucked all the way behind a car. Artemis fired once, knocking the green clad man back, offering a better target. A second shot dropped him.

Dice cursed at the enemy as she fired repeated bursts from her Threat. Most of her bullets smacked into the bodies of the heavy Danvilles (one of which started pouring heavy smoke from under the hood), but a few shattered through the windshields, slamming into the bodies of a couple of the Samedi that thought they were safe. They fell down wounded.

A squeal of tires from the south drew the attention of all of the combatants. It was a green Wellington carrying at least four more Samedi, three of which were leaning out firing automatic weapons.

"Shit, mother-fuck, Artemis!" Dice exclaimed. "We need ta go!"

Artemis looked around taking in the situation quickly. His car, Clementine, was trapped behind two of the Danvilles. Even if he could get to it, there'd be no where for his car to go. On foot, Dice and he wouldn't last a minute.

They were pinned down, with enemy gang-bangers taking cover just on the other sides of the parked cars. Another carload of the green-clothed soldiers were bearing down on them, guns blazing away. He needed to think of a plan.

Should they make a mad dash across the car roofs to get to his car? Should they go back into the _Brown Baggers_ and make a stand, even though that'd mean they'd be trapped inside? Before he could make a decision, a third option presented itself… driving a white Betsy pick-up and doing about sixty as it T-boned the oncoming Wellington.

Glass shattered from both vehicles and two of the Samedi were thrown from the green station wagon. The Betsy kept plowing forward smashing the wagon into one of the parked Danvilles. Artemis knew the vehicle; he smiled as the driver and his passenger exited.

"My boy never lets me down!" he shouted.

The driver was Bert, who quickly readied his T3K Urban.

"Damn it!" the large Saint bellowed. "The Tank's in the shop because of you fuck Samedi…" He started firing at the Samedi still trapped in the crushed Wellington. "…now I gotta get Betsy fixed as well!"

"We're here to help!" announced Dominic, who'd been riding shotgun in Bert's truck, literally – he was holding a 12-gauge. The young Saint ran around the truck to meet up with his fellows.

"How'd you know we were in trouble?" Dice asked as she put in a fresh clip. "I mean this shit, like_ just_ started!"

"Pierce called me," Bert explained as he finished off the trapped Samedi. He turned his attention to the pair of Samedi who'd been thrown from the vehicle. "The Sons are trying for a push-back. Tivey called Pierce to warn him about it and he's been trying to call everyone in return. He couldn't reach you though." He shrugged as he shot up the wounded enemy gang-members crawling to get away. "Figured I come and see if I could find you."

"Well, I'm glad you did," Artemis said with a grin. "Always there when I need you."

"Yeah, well, you owe me again…" Bert started reloading when he spotted a flash of green out of the corner of his eye. It was a gang-member trying to sneak up on Dominic who didn't seem to notice. "Kid, look-out!" he screamed and charged forward, shoving the younger Saint aside as the Samedi opened up with his Vice9.

One shot hit Bert in the left leg and two more bullets caught him square in the stomach. He fell back against his truck, a stunned look on his face.

"H-huh," he mumbled, "I th-think… I think I caught a bullet…" he slid to the ground, holding a hand to his gut.

"Bert!" Dice and Artemis screamed in unison before turning their combined fury on the unfortunate gang-member. Dice flipped her Threat to full-auto as Artemis fired both his pistols. Thirty-seven rounds tore into the Samedi in less than three seconds. What was left of the enemy gang-banger flopped to the pavement.

"You two get him inside," Artemis commanded as he reloaded his pistols. "I'm deal with these guys!" Dice nodded then she moved with Dominic to haul Bert up.

"Ow!" Bert groaned. "Fuck! That hurts!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Dice apologized and then she looked toward Dominic. "C'mon, this way!" The two Saints half-drug, half-carried their large friend in the convenient store.

As his fellows moved their wounded comrade inside, Artemis charged forward. He leapt onto the hood of the first Danville he came to and aimed his pistols at the remaining Samedi. Firing as quickly as he was able, he shot the remaining Samedi that were still standing, desperation fueling his urgency, overriding his common sense to stay behind cover. He next turned his attention to the green-clothed gangsters that Dice had wounded as they tried to crawl away. Normally, he'd let them go, but now with one of his best friends shot up, he just couldn't find the motivation to be merciful. Two more shots later, and he was the only criminal left alive in front of the store.

He leapt off of the vehicle and dashed into the _Brown Baggers_. He came upon Dice screaming at the cashier.

"What's going on?"

"Shit-ass here called the cops!" Dice explained in anger. "Now we're going to jail."

Artemis pointed his gun at the worker. "This is a Saints' business and you're going to call the police, really?"

"I… I panicked!" he mumbled. "God, don't kill me!"

"Is there a back way outta here?" Artemis asked, his gun unwavering.

"No, it was bricked over."

"Bricked…? What the fuck kinda place is this?" He shook his head. "Your backroom, is it secure? Reinforced door?"

"Yeah, it's solid."

"Good. Here's what you're gonna do…" Artemis ordered the young man. "You're gonna take my friend who's hurt and his buddy…" At this he indicated Dominic. "…and you're gonna lock yourself in there with them. Wait for the cops. When they show up, you tell them the Samedi started this shit and that we were only defending ourselves, got it?"

"Yeah…"

"Give me the security tape. Now."

"Security tape?"

"I do not have time to fuck with you," Artemis snarled. "Get me the tape."

The young cashier nodded and ejected a tape from a machine.

"Good, now do as I say, or I will be back, you understand?" Artemis growled, emphasizing the point with his pistol.

"Okay, okay!"

Artemis smirked coldly then turned to Dominic. "You gotta stay here. Guard'em." He indicated Bert and the cashier. "I'm counting on you."

"Right, boss," Dominic agreed.

Bert looked up, pain clearly on his face. "Wh… where the f-fuck you goin'?"

Artemis smiled. "I'm buying your ass some time. You just stay put." He turned to Dice as he headed toward the entrance. "Lil Sister, let's go!"

Dice nodded as she followed him out the front door.

Once outside, he quickly took in his surroundings. The best case scenario right now would be for Pierce and the rest of the Saints to come to their rescue. However, if his regular dose of luck were to hold steady, then…

A group of Samedi came running up from the south across a small open lot.

_Yep_, he grimaced to himself. _My usual luck is holding true…_

"Samedi are a buncha bitches!" he yelled aloud as he started firing one of his pistols into the front of the Danville whose engine was still billowing black smoke. After two shots, flames appeared. "Whoops, that was quick," he said with surprise. "Lil Sister let's go!"

The two Saints took off at a run, heading east. They covered less than fifty feet when the engine of the flaming Danville exploded.

"There!" one of the approaching enemies called out, his attention drawn by the explosion. The Samedi started chasing after them.

"Fuck!" Dice complained as she checked over her Threat. "Well, we got their attention. Now what?"

Artemis had been focused on her as they were running away, drawing the Samedi after them. He turned to look ahead and realized his luck may finally be changing for the better. "Hah, now…" he said pointing east, "…we catch a ride."

Coming north along Rosa Drive and just starting to make the turn west towards them was a large green, yellow and white _Cheetah Coaches_ bus.

The two Saints ran hard while waving, trying to get the attention of the driver. The bus started slowing and finally came to a stop, its air-brakes hissing in protest. The side door opened.

A black man, in his late fifties, and dressed in a blue _Cheetah Coaches_ uniform, stared down at them over the rims of his bifocals.

"Kids, this is not a scheduled stop. You need to… oh, hell!" The last was said as the driver finally noticed their weapons.

The two Saints clambered on board.

"Get out," Artemis told the driver. "We're taking your bus."

"Everyone out!" Dice ordered the five passengers in the back. "Unless your dumb asses want to get shot!"

The passengers panicked and bolted for the rear exit which the driver opened for them.

"Now it's your turn, old man," Artemis said holding up his gun.

"Old man, my ass," the driver retorted. "An' I ain't going anywhere. This is my bus. You little shits can walk!"

Artemis blinked at the defiant driver; he hadn't really been prepared for the man to argue about the situation.

"Artemis, they're coming!" Dice informed him. The Samedi were crossing the street and heading for the large vehicle. One of them was on a cell phone.

"I don't have time for this shit, man." Artemis shook his head. He pointed out the window at the green-clad gang-bangers. "You see those punks there. They will kill all of us while we're here arguing. We need to go!"

"Let's go then!" the driver said as he shifted gears and slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The huge vehicle lurched forward.

Artemis had to grab onto one of the hand-rails to brace himself as Dice's tiny form stumbled backwards into an empty seat.

"The hell…!" she cried out in surprise.

The Samedi raised their weapons and called out for the bus to slow down. Instead, the old man increased his speed, turning the front of the bus right at them, forcing them to scatter.

"Used to be… back in the day…" the driver muttered to himself, "… that a man, well, he could make an honest livin' 'round this city." The air-brakes hissed as the bus shifted gears again. "But now, all we gots are you gang-bangers, throwin' up your signs and thinkin' you're the who's who of Stilwater."

Dice managed to drag herself from the seat and slowly hauled her way up front.

"What… what're we doing?" she asked, concern on her face.

"I was a vet," the old man went on. "I served my country proudly for over twenty-eight years…" He quickly outran the Samedi who were on foot. "Then I come back here, to this…"

A group of three Danvilles suddenly appeared off to the left, apparently having been called by the Samedi with the cell phone from the group they just left behind. They turned parallel to the Cheetah and started racing alongside. The green gangsters on the passenger sides of the cars leaned out. They were wielding T3Ks and Krukovs.

"Oh damn!" Artemis exclaimed, then he grabbed Dice. "Look out!" He pulled the little blonde girl down with him just as a hail of gunfire slammed into the middle of the bus. Holes tore through the Plexiglas windows and side panels of the vehicle, allowing sunlight to filter in.

Dice raised her head cautiously. "Is it over?" she asked just as another round of bullets smashed into the bus. A window above the two cowering Saints was shot out completely and shattered bits of it rained down upon them.

"People used to be 'preciative of what they had, y'know?" the driver ranted on. "Now all you youngsters want this and that. Sayin' this belongs to you… this is your 'hood." He shook his head disgustedly. "Ungrateful that's what you all are. You don't pay taxes; you don't earn an honest livin'.

Artemis looked up. "C'mon, move to the front," he muttered to Dice. They crept carefully toward the front of the bus as more shots rang out.

"Hell, if any of this shit b'longs to anybody it's me and my fellow taxpayers." The driver seemed to be getting angry. "You there, with the pistols," he addressed Artemis. "You any good with them there guns or are they just for show?"

"My name's Artemis," the Saint replied with a stern look. "As in the Goddess of the Hunt." The driver stared back at him blankly. "Like the Greek gods."

The driver scrunched his face. "Well if you're not any good with'em just say so instead of blabbin' about this and that."

"Yes, he's good with them!" Dice replied loudly as she struggled to stand. The bus was lurching unsteadily as the driver pressed onward trying to stay away from the Samedi.

"Then start shootin' at'em!" the bus driver shouted.

Artemis hesitated for a second, then pulled himself up and aimed his gun at the closest Samedi car. He pulled the trigger just as the bus hit a pothole. The bullet missed his intended target; rather it hit one of the Samedi in the shoulder causing him to drop his Krukov.

"Not bad," observed the driver in his side mirror, "but you need to take out the whole car, not just one of'em at a time."

Artemis scowled at the driver and was about to say something when the old man cut him off.

"Oop, hold on now." The driver leaned to the right and turned the wheel sharply left while easing off the accelerator a bit.

"What the shit…" Dice said as she saw that the road up ahead was running out. The driver was trying to make a sharp left at dangerous speeds with a 45-foot long monster of a vehicle. Panic set in quickly. "Oh my god… AAAHHHH!" she screamed as she hurtled toward the right side of the bus and slammed painfully into the row of seats there.

"I was a driver for Colonel Trent Meyson himself," the bus driver spoke out loud. "He was always impressed with my drivin'." He grinned darkly. "This thing's a bit more loppy, but basically the same."

The Danvilles had to slow considerably to make the turn and for a moment the bus was clear.

"Artemis," Dice called out to him, fear showing in her eyes, "I want off! Tell'em to let us off!"

"We ain't out of the thick of it yet, missy!" the driver retorted. True to his words, the Danvilles had caught back up. Two were on the left of the bus, while the third had come around to the right. The vehicle on the right started ramming broadside into the bus.

Dice stumbled back and tried to stand up in the middle of the bus as Artemis leaned out the left side and started firing again.

"Aim for the tires, youngster!" the driver exclaimed. "At these speeds without tires, those hunks of junk won't have no control!"

Artemis did as he was bade and adjusted his aim. He fired off the remainder of his clip from his left pistol. To his satisfaction, the front right tire of the lead Samedi car blew out, taking the driver by surprise. He tried to veer away, but couldn't compensate for the lack of traction his car now had. The Samedi pulled to the left, tried to turn quickly back right and slammed hard into the bus, trapping his front end under the much larger vehicle.

The rear wheels of the Cheetah's left side rolled up and over the Danville's hood, crushing it. The Samedi car directly behind it didn't have enough time to avoid the vehicle. With a resounding _**-CRASH!-**_ the vehicles collided with such force that the rear end of the second Danville actually flew up and over the first. Both vehicles (and any survivors there might be) were taken out of the chase.

"Just like it used to be," the driver remarked. "Like it was… over _there_."

Artemis was pretty sure he didn't want to know where 'there' was.

"Now you, missy," the driver called out to Dice. "You know which way to point that thing of yours?"

Dice nodded dumbly as she held onto the hand-rails for dear life.

"Good, we gots us another bogey on our right." This statement was referring to the Danville still slamming against the bus.

Dice just blinked and nodded again as she forced herself toward the right side. The window was still intact, so she had to slide it open.

"Well?" the driver called out adamantly. "Do something!"

Dice gritted her teeth and had to turn her head to shield her eyes from the wind rushing through the open window. She aimed her Threat as well as she could against the wind resistance, flipped the gun to full-auto and squeezed the trigger. All forty rounds of the clip flew into the roof and hood of the enemy car. Some of the bullets must have struck the driver, because the car suddenly turned right… away from the bus and off the road entirely. The vehicle smashed violently into the front of an abandoned home and didn't move again.

"Okay," Artemis spoke up finally. "They're all gone. You, uh… you can let us out now."

"Not yet, youngster," the driver said with a shake of his head as he pointed down the road. Up ahead was a Samedi road block consisting of two green Wellingtons and another Danville with at least a half-dozen more green-clad gang members standing near the vehicles.

"Stop the bus!" Dice demanded.

"Nope," the driver called out. "Nobody stops Sergeant Cappy Johnson!" With a glimmer in his eye, the driver pulled his hat down low, steeled himself and surged forward.

"Oh my Christ!" Dice yelled at Artemis. "He's… he's nuts!" She looked out the front window, terror all over her face. "We… we're all gonna die!"

"No one's dying today!" Cappy cried out.

"Shit, brace yourself!" Artemis said as the two Saints clung to whatever they could.

The bus accelerated and plowed into the enemy vehicles at over seventy miles an hour. Metal groaned as the front end of the bus lifted off the ground. They lost sight of the street, the front window showing nothing but sky and suddenly the vehicle tilted to the left, its own massive weight rolling it sideways. Somewhere Dice screamed out in horror as the bus smashed downward. Artemis was flung hard against the window frame and pain exploded in his right arm. He heard someone else cry out and realized it was himself.

The world shifted. Noise was everywhere… and then… there was darkness…

…

What… was… that… sound…?

He knew it… recognized it…

As his thoughts came back, he recognized two distinct sounds. One was the muffled sound of automatic gunfire. The other was muffled screams of anger and pain.

A short snap of light followed by a crackle of electricity brought him back to consciousness.

Artemis was on his side, bits of Plexiglas, plastic and steel were everywhere, some covering him. He heard a crunching sound and looked up with bleary eyes to see Dice squatting low, hunkered down and making her way along the side of the bus towards him.

Wait… the _side_…?

His vision finally came into focus and he saw Dice crouched down next to him, a look of concern on her face. The bus had apparently tipped over.

"You okay?" she whispered quietly as she looked around with trepidation. "The driver's okay… Cappy, whatever… he's trying to get through to his company on his radio."

Artemis tried to nod but all he did was scrape his head painfully against the ground. "Ohhh... the hell?" He tried to sit upright. A streak of white agony shot up his right arm. "Aah… crap!" he tried to keep from yelling out. If there were still Samedi outside trying to shoot their way in, he didn't want to let them know they were still alive.

"Oh shit, Artemis!" Dice muttered. "There's a piece of metal… from, from the window frame…" She inched closer. "It's though your arm! There's blood like everywhere!"

Artemis leaned back despite the pain and sat up. True to Dice's words, there was a lot of blood pooled around where he had been laying. He looked up at her and noticed he wasn't the only one injured. Dice had a nasty cut above her right eye and a scrape across the left side of her chin.

Suddenly, it was dark again…

"Artemis!" Dice was shaking him.

"Wh-wha…" he mumbled.

"I was talking to you and then you were just falling over."

"My head… I feel dizzy…" he tried to clear his thoughts. "I…"

_**THOOMP!**_

The noise of something landing on the top/side of the bus echoed throughout the large vehicle. The gunfire outside had ceased. Muttered words and footsteps above them indicated someone had climbed upon the bus and was making their way towards the broken window above them.

"Oh shit!" Dice whispered. "I lost my gun."

"I got one of my pistols still," Artemis assured her as he grabbed it with his left hand.

"But your right arm is all…" She made an ugly face to indicate his wound.

"D-don't forget, Lil Sister," he slurred, the blood loss starting to take its toll. "I'm ambidextrous. I'm just as g-good with my left hand as I am with my r-right."

He started to aim up at the window, when a face peeked over the side.

"Knock knock, mutherfuckas!" Then the face took on a look of recognition and finally shock. "Holy fuck, Pierce! There's some of my Saints down there and they look hurt!"

It was the Boss herself.

"Hold on, guys!" their Leader called down. "We'll getchu outta there! Don't worry; we took care of all of the Samedi. Shivington's back in our hands!"

"We made it!" Dice hollered with a smile. "Shit yeah! We're gonna be okay!"

Artemis smiled back, the pistol dropping down to his side. _Good,_ he thought, _I was getting awfully tired anyway…_

And then he let the darkness take him…

* * *

><p><strong>Bavogian Plaza, Red Light District, Stilwater<strong>

** Club Purgatory**

**Monday, May 9, 2011, 1:18pm**

…

Artemis was laying on one of the makeshift cots that the Saints had set up in the lowest level of their Hideout. The entire club had become a temporary hospital with wounded Saints everywhere.

Pierce had informed them that six more Saints had been killed during the Samedi's attempted push-back including Tivey, the brave young Saint that had been the first one to warn Pierce about the attack; he'd been found dead in an alley on the southern part of the neighborhood. Another eleven had been wounded including both Dice and Artemis.

At Dice's urging they were able to find Bert and Dominic still at the _Brown Baggers_. Since there had been a neighborhood wide wave of violence, the police were never able to make it to the convenient store before the two Saints that had been stranded there were whisked away. They even managed to get Clementine back, although Bert's white Betsy was too damaged to move.

Bert had been tended to immediately and finally Artemis had been looked at – Darcy herself was the one to work on him. His injury had been deep but, once the blood loss had been stopped, was no longer life threatening. He was moved to the area near the base of the stairs leading up, right below the balcony overlooking the club.

He'd been given some really good painkillers from Shaundi's personal stash and wasn't feeling… much of anything actually. In fact he was having trouble staying awake.

"Hey, boss," Dice said quietly as she made her way over to him. She had a few stitches in her forehead and a bandage on her chin.

"H-hey, Lil Sister," he slurred as the drugs continued their effects upon him.

"Darcy said you wanted to see me before you drifted off," she muttered. "You really need to get some sleep."

"I know… I know…" he agreed. "But first, I need you to do something for me. Ya n-need to promise me something."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." He tried to sit up and winced as he moved.

"Hey, it's cool," Dice said as she crouched down next to him. "I can hear you."

"The Saints… Look our ranks are thinned out at the moment," Artemis spoke quickly, feeling the tendrils of sleep pulling at his brain. "Everyone needs to s-step up their game, y'know?"

"Okay." She didn't seem to understand what he was trying to say.

"This," he indicated his arm, "is gonna keep me down for a while." He nodded. "Bert's hurt and Corey and Travis… well…" He trailed off.

"I know," Dice said. "Pierce's crew is fucked. We need some new people."

"We need leadership," Artemis explained. "We need people to fill in the blanks until the crews can get fixed up."

"What are you saying?" she asked as her eyes narrowed. She began to suspect what he was about to ask.

"I need you to take over the crew, okay? You need to be in charge for a bit."

Her eyes widened, not in shock, but in dread. She started shaking her head. "No…"

"You can. You have the seniority. You've been with the Saints as long as I have…"

"Don't do this…" she interrupted. "It's just Shaundi's crazy drugs talking. You know… you know I ain't reliable. I…I can't be responsible for…"

"Yes, you can," he said adamantly. "Remember our conversation earlier. You wanted to know if I thought you could be responsible for others. You wanted to know if you were trustworthy." He nodded. "Well, I'm telling you that I think you are. I'm c-counting of ya t…ta… to take over my crew, okay?" He looked her in the eyes. "Promise me you'll watch out for Chaz and Mongrel and the Saints 'til I… 'til I'm back healed up, okay?"

"But you're amber-stuff," she tried to make an argument. "You can still shoot with your other hand…"

"But I won't be able to drive well," he reminded her. "I won't be one hundred percent." His mind wandered off for a moment then he focused on her again. "Look, the drug's kicking in. Please promise me you'll watch over the crew… that you'll take over. You're the only one I can trust with it now." His eyes were pleading.

Dice took a deep shuddering sigh before nodding in agreement.

"O-okay," she groaned. "For you, Artemis… just for you, I'll do it. I… I'll man up, or woman up or whatever…" She looked half-scared out of mind. "But only until you get better, okay?" She stared hard at him. "Hey, wake up for a sec. Just until you're better, alright?"

"It's a deal," he smiled then he let the pain flow away, his mind finally at ease. Dice was quietly saying something else, but he just couldn't quite make out the words…

…

The Boss looked solemnly over the club-nee-hospital. She watched over her wounded Saints, guilt digging into her like a knife. She'd lost twenty-one of her loyal crew in three days and nearly that amount lay wounded before her. Why was this so hard? Julius had made it seem so easy…

Julius…

The name burned through her like hot metal. He'd abandoned them all. He'd sold out. He'd become a fucking tour guide for Ultor. She would find him and ask him why he left them to rot, but first she needed to take care of her loyal crew.

The short, pretty blonde girl… Dice was her name… came over and talked to Artemis, one of the more resourceful leaders on Pierce's crew. They weren't aware of their Leader's presence above them. He was hurt and wanted Dice to watch over his crew. She didn't want to, but promised that she would before the painkillers kicked in and took him away.

After he fell asleep though, the short blonde Saint continued talking quietly…

"I'll try," she went on. "But it won't matter." She slid to the ground, sitting next to her friend, and pulled her legs up to her chest. "The other gangs… they're tearing us apart."

She sat there and rested her chin on her knees.

"We're losing, badly." She shook her head. "These Samedi, they just don't stop. How're we gonna win, hmmm? How _can_ we win?" The short Saint sniffed as tears started forming at the corners of her eyes. "I nearly lost everything I care about in just two days. I just don't know how we can beat them."

The Boss felt her jaw set as anger took over. Not her usual blinding rage, but the cold biting one… the dangerous calculating anger. The Boss wasn't angry at the young girl below her – if anything she sympathized with her. What if something happened to Johnny, or Shaundi, or Carlos… even Pierce? She'd level half the city in revenge.

No, the Boss was angry because she felt like _she _had let her Saints down. She felt as if she betrayed them. Johnny said she'd been too lax – well, not the words he actually used, but she got his meaning. Maybe she was too lenient, too slow to build up her power and make a move.

Well, that time was over. These new gangs were going to learn who they were fucking with – all of them in turn. But first…

First she'd deal with these fucking Samedi.

She pulled out her cell and brought up her contacts. She hit the sixth number down and waited as the phone dialed.

"_Boss?"_ came the quick response on the other end of the line.

"Dyson?" she inquired. "Where you at? Whatcha doing?"

"_I'm at the Diamond in the Muff strip club. As to what I'm doing…"_ she heard a whimper coming from the background. _"I'm about to set the alcohol-soaked head of a very uncooperative bartender on fire… Other than that nothing much."_ His voice got quieter. _"Is there something wrong? You need me?"_

She gritted her teeth as she spat out her response. "The Samedi. They killed my Saints. They tried taking what was mine." She paused a moment before continuing.

"_You want the hurt put on their businesses? You need them to feel a little financial pinch?"_

"No," she answered. "Small time stuff's over. I need you to come in. I'm done being nice. It's time…"

"_Time for what?"_

She hesitated before a dark grin twisted her face as she spoke a single word:

"Retaliation."

She could almost hear the smile in her cleaner's voice as he responded. _"I'll be right there."_

* * *

><p><strong>Well crap, the Saints are in all sorts of pain. But have no fear, everyone's favorite little psychotic hitman makes his triumphant return in the next chap. After that… hmmm… who knows what's gonna happen (hehehe).<strong>


	27. Ep 3: Retaliation, Part 9

**A/N:**

**So as not to confuse my readers I need to state the following: Almost all of this chapter takes place before the previous one (with the push-back at Shivington); in fact the first part of this chap takes place nearly twenty-two _YEARS_ before the current storyline. Sorry if this misleads anyone – it's just the way the chap turned out.**

**Also, need to reiterate this:**

**Warning: My story's rated M for scenes involving excessive violence, language, and adult content. Please read no further if these aren't your thing as I do not wish to offend anyone.**

**I own nothing but my Original Characters and my own ideas.**

**Finally, for those who aren't sure: Dyson and Mr Kind are the same person; Dyson is just one of a handful of different aliases he goes by.**

**Okay, enough rambling…**

* * *

><p><strong>Episode 3: Retaliation<strong>

**Part 9**

* * *

><p><strong>Sunnyvale Gardens, Projects District, Stilwater<strong>

**Friday, November 3, 1989, 11:43pm**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Seventeen minutes to midnight…<em>**

James Wexor Carson was awoken by a loud thumping noise coming from outside his bedroom. He looked over at his dresser – the green numbers on the digital clock indicating the time. It was almost Saturday, he thought wearily. In less than half an hour, it'd be the Fourth of November. He'd be eight years old then.

He smiled to himself. His mother told him that they'd be going somewhere tomorrow and that he had to be ready first thing in the morning. James was pretty sure it was going to be a big surprise for his birthday – his mother wasn't very good at surprises. He had wanted to get his surprise right away but his mother told him to wait; he should have patience – everything would come to him if he just had patience.

**_Fifteen minutes to midnight…_**

As he thought about his mother, he heard her voice from the other side of the door. She seemed to be arguing with someone. A man's voice responded.

James shook his head in surprise. A man? There shouldn't be anyone here – not even mom's friend Will was supposed to be here this late.

James rubbed his eyes and climbed out of bed. He didn't waste time finding his slippers – rather, he crept barefoot up to the bedroom door and turned the knob carefully, trying to be quiet. He pulled it open slowly and peered out, his bedroom being just off of the living room in the small apartment.

In the middle of the living room stood his mother, Lily-Rose Carson. She was a beautiful woman in her late twenties with alabaster skin and jet black hair. She was never seen looking anything but her best. Her hair was always fixed up and fancy like it was now, even at this late hour, and the dark red lipstick she had on drew out the unique color of her cornflower blue eyes – a unique color that her only child shared.

In front of her was another figure that James unfortunately recognized – a tall, pale-skinned man, solidly-built, with short black hair and dark, cold eyes. He could almost be considered handsome if it weren't for the air of malice about him. He was dressed in expensive looking clothing – a black shirt and vest with well-fitted white slacks. He had a pair of sunglasses propped up on his head, right below a black brimmed hat that looked almost like a cowboy hat but it had a white feather stuck in it. Around his neck he wore a steel chain with a large gold pendant hanging from it. On the pendant was a single four-letter word. The man was speaking sternly to James' mother.

"I don't really care what you think, Lily-Rose. _I_ say it's time and my opinion is all that matters. Or have you forgotten that?" The man stepped closer to his mother. "Have you forgotten exactly who I am?"

"No, Alexander," his mother said quietly, "I haven't."

"Alexander?" the man scoffed in his deep voice, a look of disbelief on his face. "Your days of calling me by my first name are over. You aren't my main bitch anymore. You're just like any one of my regular pieces of ass now." A vicious grin slashed his face. "Your only advantage was that you watched over my legacy." The dark man leaned still closer to his mother. "And now I want him."

"He's my son, too," Lily-Rose replied. "I raised him. I've taken care of him all this time. He doesn't belong in your world."

"My world?" The man stepped back as if slapped. "What sanctimonious crap are you shoveling, my dear?" He looked her up and down as if inspecting her. "You've kept your looks, I'll grant you that. And you were smart enough to stay off the drugs. But now you need to work again, back in the Kennels with the rest of the bitches." A broad smile split his face at the last statement.

James stood quietly up against the wall. The man was his father, introduced to him long ago. His mother had told him who he was and that he had no place in their lives. James didn't understand at the time, but never questioned her since having met his father he didn't seem that nice anyway. Now, however, things seemed to be changing. Was his father talking about taking him away?

"The Kennels?" his mother exclaimed, shock on her face. "Why? I've done right by you. I've stayed loyal."

"Loyalty doesn't pay the bills, dear," the large man replied. "I gave you money. I left you alone – much better circumstances that should be allowed for one of _your_ kind."

"My kind?" she asked, a glare in her eyes.

"A ho, a prostitute, a piece of ass." Alexander glared back. "Do I really need to spell it out for you? You've been lucky so far, is all. Now I've come for what's mine."

**_Twelve minutes to midnight…_**

"Mom?" James called quietly from the edge of the room. "What's he saying? Is he taking me away?"

"James?" Lily-Rose asked in surprise. "What are you doing up? G-go back to bed. No one's taking you anywhere."

"There he is!" Alexander exclaimed. "My little man!" He knelt down and opened his arms wide. "Come here, mister!"

"Mom?" James seemed confused.

"Please," his mother begged. "Just go back to bed."

A scowl crossed the large man's face as he stood back up. He turned to look at Lily-Rose.

"This is how I get treated?" His voice took on a dangerous edge. "After all the money I gave you?"

"All the money?" his mother laughed. "Look at this place! Sunnyvale Gardens has been in decline for years! How many cribs do you have, huh?" She stepped closer. "Any one of your places in fifty times as grand as this! You gave us a pittance and I had to make it work. I even took a real job just so I wouldn't have to come to you for anything else."

Anger flashed in Alexander's eyes.

"Oh what?" his mother asked, noticing the look the large man gave her. "Don't like the fact that you're losing control of everything? I know about Los Carnales coming in. The mighty Alexander being threatened by some new gang-bangers. Now you're losing control of your girls." She smiled smugly at him. "That's right. I got up off my back so I've wouldn't have to lay with trash like you anymore."

The large man lashed out at Lily-Rose, punching her in the side of the face and knocking her down.

"Mom!" James cried as he ran across the room to his mother's side.

"Trying to turn my own son against me, eh?" He shook his head in anger. "You've got some nerve."

"Trying to turn?" Lily-Rose held a hand up to her face, her nose bleeding where he had hit her, as she tilted her head in disbelief. "I'm not doing anything, Alexander. It's all you. You're cancerous, insane. You're nothing but Hate itself."

"You also seem to forget that I'm in control of the Projects, of the Red Light District and of Saint's Row," he reminded her. "I'm in charge of a lot of shit and I know everything of importance that goes on here."

Lily-Rose stared at the large man in defiance, holding her son close.

"I know all about your little deal with Will. How you two were going to take my boy away from me. Move'em up to northern Stilwater where you thought he'd be out of my reach."

Shock took control of her face, then slowly fear overcame the shock.

"Oh," the large man had a mirthless grin. "Didn't think I knew about that, did you? Always think I'm stupid, don't you?"

"Where-where's Will?" his mother asked, concern in her voice. "Is he… Did you…?"

"Kill'em?" the large man's eyes flashed with satisfaction. "Should've, but no. I did, however, _teach_ him what it was like to defy me. He may be able to walk in a couple of days again. Bright boy, only eighteen and he almost got away with it."

"You're crazy!" she spat at him.

"No, I'm Alexander Kind, _**the**_ Alexander Kind. I'm the king of southern Stilwater." He started approaching the pair. "And I'm taking my son with me."

**_Nine minutes to midnight…_**

"You leave us alone!" James screamed defiantly as he charged at his father. He swung his fists and hit the much larger individual in the side.

"You need to learn your place!" Alexander yelled and smashed a heavy fist into the boy's back. The child fell down from the blow.

"James!" his mother called out as she moved to help.

"Why do all you people defy me?" the large man's voice was angry. "I'm sick of all of you." He caught Lily-Rose around the waist and threw her aside.

James stood again, hurt but not defeated and he grabbed onto Alexander again, trying to push him over, but his father was too big, too powerful. Alexander pried the boy loose, held him with his left hand and smashed his right fist fully into the boy's face. The world exploded about him.

James stumbled back and crumpled to the floor, severely stunned by the blow. He barely heard his mother cry out his name again. It sounded like she had lunged at his father again. He heard vague noises, like the two of them wrestling. James tried to make out the sounds as he attempted to bring his world back into focus.

As his senses slowly started to coalesce, snippets of the fight started coming through.

"Lousy bitch needs to learn her place!" he could make out his father saying.

"Stop it!" his mother cried back. "You're hurting me! STOP!"

"Should've just stayed still," his father called back. "Now I gotta teach you!"

"No! Eeeanh…h!" his mother's cries trailed off into an odd gurgling noise.

There was a rustling sound that emanated from their direction that grew slower and quieter as James struggled to get to his knees. After a while, the sounds of movement stopped.

"M-mom?" he muttered as his vision finally cleared. His father had one hand wrapped around his mother's throat as the other had been cupped over her mouth and nose. His father slowly eased back releasing Lily-Rose. She was very still.

"MOM!" James cried out again.

"Don't bother, boy," Alexander called back. "She's sleeping now. Just sleeping."

It was a lie. James could see his mother clearly. Her eyes were wide open in fear. A single tear had trickled down from her left eye to mix with the blood coming from her nose. She wasn't moving, wasn't breathing, wasn't blinking. She was dead.

**_One minute to midnight…_**

James stared at his mother - the most important person in his life was gone. Then, as the other occupant of the room stood, he focused his attention on the man named Alexander Kind. His mother had called Alexander Hate itself, and James finally understood what she meant. He brought nothing but hate and James was now infected with that hate, cold and biting.

"Let's go, little mister," Alexander held a hand out. "You're coming with me to learn the ways of the real world. It'll be brutal; it'll be harsh." He nodded with a dark grin. "But it's time for you to see your legacy." He held the gold pendant around his neck with the letters KIND etched into them. "Time for you to take the name Kind like you should've in the first place."

"My name is Carson," James muttered. "James Carson."

Alexander approached him and raised a fist. James flinched, but didn't step back.

"Your name is Kind," the large man who called himself his father explained. "That's the way it is." He shook his head. "James Carson. What the fuck sort of useless name is that? Sounds like a cowboy from an old movie." He took a deep breath. "No, you're Wexor Kind, named after my father before me. You're my son, you got that, mister?" He laughed darkly. "That's who you'll be from this day forward, my little... _Mister Kind_."

**_The clock on the wall lightly chimed the signal of midnight._**

It was the Fourth of November, his birthday. Glaring up at the man above him, James Carson - now - Wexor Kind made a quick wish, his birthday wish.

As angry tears came to his eyes he remembered his mother's words. _Patience… everything would come to him if he just had patience._ Alexander was too powerful, he realized that; he was afraid of his father. The boy had not been strong enough to stop him and he didn't want to ever feel so weak and helpless again. As he took the man's hand and solemnly walked barefoot out of the apartment, he wished that he would have the patience his mother had talked about.

He wanted the patience to let himself grow, grow stronger, more capable. He wanted the patience to one day - yes, one day - make Alexander and everyone else who would ever get in his way afraid. He wanted them all to be as afraid of him as he was of his father right now.

He didn't want justice, or even revenge, though he would gladly take those should the opportunities ever present themselves.

Instead, he wished for the city to one day fear him. To fear the name of Wexor Kind.

* * *

><p><strong>Little Shanghai, Chinatown District, Stilwater<strong>

**The abandoned **_**Fancy Wigs and Moustaches**_** warehouse**

**Third Floor**

**Monday, May 9, 2011, 10:33am**

_**twenty-one and a-half years later…**_

* * *

><p>Wexor Kind inhaled sharply as he awoke, the tendrils of his childhood memories, of his personal nightmare, vanishing back to the dark, twisted recesses of his mind. He looked around the large loft for the disturbance that dared to bring him back to consciousness.<p>

A dull thrumming emanated from atop the nightstand next to the large king-sized bed about ten feet away. He stood up from the recliner in which he had been dozing. He rarely slept in an actual bed – too much trouble getting to your feet in an emergency. He moved quietly across the floor, naked save for a pair of black jeans.

His cornflower blue eyes, used to the darkness, had little trouble locating the source of the noise in the dimly-lit loft. It was a cell-phone.

He picked it up before the buzzing could awaken the sole occupant of his bed – an attractive, well-built, well-muscled black woman about five and a half feet tall. Her name was Tamara Robbson, known among the Third Street Saints as the Wheel Woman.

He glanced quickly at the screen. There was a text-message:

**T-Ray:**_** where u at? wat u doin?**_

Wexor shook his head. He never quite understood the intellectual absence of most text-messages. If you couldn't bother to type your message properly then don't bother typing it at all. Still, he was in a puckish mood and quickly typed his own message in reply. An answer immediately came back. He glanced at it with a smirk then clicked the phone off and slid it into his pants pocket.

He paused to look again at his sleeping guest then headed over to the computer. He roused it out of sleep mode. Finding no new e-mails he scowled briefly at the screen and began typing a message to one of his contacts.

_**My dearest Thimble – I've given you ample time to discover what I need. It would be appreciated if you would respond in all haste lest I begin to think your stellar reputation is somewhat undeserving. - Dyson**_

He sent the message and moved to the bathroom, flipping the lightswitch upon his arrival. The sudden bright glare caused him to shade his eyes for a moment.

Wexor discovered upon reaching maturity that two of his five senses had become surprisingly acute. His eyes had an odd type of photophobia, a symptom of abnormal intolerance to light. It appeared to be some form of congenital anomaly, but unlike most such anomalies his was different. While he did have a very low tolerance for bright light, he was conversely able to see quite well in low-light environments. He didn't have true night-vision, but his sight was rather good with very little illumination. Hence he had a tendency to almost always wear his black aviators, even while inside.

His sense of smell was also surprisingly acute to the point that it was nearly as good as that of a blind man. However, it was his sense of hearing that he wished had been enhanced. He thought that would be of much better use in situations, like now.

He _barely_ heard the soft footfalls before he was grabbed roughly from behind. A shapely but muscled arm the color of milk chocolate wrapped firmly around his waist while another grabbed his left wrist and twisted his arm behind him.

"Gotcha, bitch!" he heard a familiar feminine voice call out playfully. "Whatcha gonna do now, huh?"

He glanced in the mirror and saw Tamara looking at his reflection with a smirk. She was wearing a light purple button down nightshirt that was currently unbuttoned and opened. He could feel her soft skin pressed warmly up against his cool, bare back. He reached down with his right hand and grasped her arm that was around his waist.

"Do you really want me to try and get out of this… or are you going to be smart and just let me go?" His voice was a quiet purr that held just an edge of danger to it.

Tamara locked eyes with his reflection for a moment, trying to gauge the truth of his threat, before finally releasing him.

"You're about as much fun as a dead puppy, y'know that?" she said with a shake of her head.

He turned to face Tamara, not liking anyone - even her - at his back.

"That's not what you were saying last night," he replied with a dark grin as he leaned forward.

"Oh, yeah?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow. She took a step away from him. "Y'know, I might've been drunk then and really didn't know what I saying."

"Mm, is that so?" He moved up to her. "I seriously doubt that."

"Yeah, I think that was it," she said with a smile taking a few more steps back. She reached up and lightly raked her fingernails across his bare torso. She paused and etched her fingers along his tattoo. It began in the middle of the left side of his chest and ended on the tip of his left shoulder.

The tattoo was a long-stemmed white flower – an Easter Lily. Coming from the open petals down along the stem was a thin trickle of water like early morning dew, although he had told her once the 'dew' was actually a single tear. Wrapped around the lily was a dark red rose, a thorn of which had poked into the stem of the lily causing a dark liquid that looked strangely like blood to flow out and mix with the dew-like 'tear' flowing along the stem. He never told her what the symbolic nature of the odd _Lily-Rose_ tattoo was and she never pressed, but she always sensed it held some significance.

"I recall having more to drink than you did," he remarked, bringing her focus back to his face. "And I also recall that you have a better tolerance for liquor than I do…" He closed the distance between them again.

"Hmph, I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe you'll have to refresh my memory about last night." Tamara had backed herself up to the edge of the bed, a confident smirk on her face.

Wexor leaned in and put a hand at the small of her back as he eased her backwards onto the bed. He bent low and kissed her gently on the belly once… twice…

Then he crawled forward slowly, the tip of his nose lightly brushed her skin starting right above her belly-button, up along her torso and between her breasts. He inhaled lightly as he did so, taking in her scent.

"You smell delicious," he purred softly to her then bent low again.

He ran the tip of his tongue gently up along her neck, to the bottom of her chin.

"And you taste even better." He stared down at her - a predatory gleam in his eyes. "I wonder, what ever shall I do with you?"

Tamara felt her heartbeat quicken as she reached up toward him. She dug the nails of her right hand into his shoulder as her left hand grabbed onto the jeans around his waist. She wrapped her leg up around his and pulled him forward. She finally managed to get a hold of the button at the front of his jeans as she pulled him down toward her and then she…

_**Ping!**_

Wexor's head snapped to the side as he glanced over at the computer.

"Finally," he growled. He extricated himself quickly from her grasp and took a seat in front of his desk. "Pardon me a moment…"

"Excuse me?" Tamara muttered in disbelief. Did he just pull away from her to look at something on the computer…?

Wexor clicked the mouse a few times and brought up something on the screen.

"Oh hell no!" Tamara called out across the loft. "You need to get your ass over here right now and finish your business."

Wexor reached into his pants' pocket and pulled out the cell phone he stashed there earlier. He tossed it over his shoulder onto the bed a couple of feet from Tamara.

"And you need to talk your boyfriend," he replied. "Tell him to quit calling, or texting in this case, when you're with me or there may be a problem for him in the future."

"Who-wha?" Tamara picked up the cell phone and realized it was hers. "Trey texted me?" She quickly pulled up the last conversation.

**T-Ray:**_** where u at? wat u doin?**_

**W Woman:**_** fukkin MrKind, cyt**_

**T-Ray:**_** haha, cyt**_

Tamara scowled as she looked at the screen – realizing Wexor had replied to Trey while she slept. Luckily it seemed as if Trey thought the reply was a joke. She clicked her phone off, pulled her nightshirt back on and stalked over to the computer where Wexor was sitting.

"Y'know, if you weren't one of the most dangerous people in the city," she began, "I would definitely try to kill your ass right now. Hell, I might still try it."

"Yes, but if you do somehow manage to kill me," he replied without taking his eyes off the computer screen, "then how will I ever be able to offer you make-up sex?"

"You're an asshole," she grumbled as she pulled over another chair and plopped down into it, her legs propped up over one of the armrests.

She watched as Wexor pulled up what seemed to be an e-mail with a video attachment. She looked at the sender's name – Thimble – and the message sent with it.

_**Sorry, sorry, q-t MrK! Been bz :(**__**. Here's the vid.. nmh ..**_

"She that crazy teen-age Asian girl with a crush on you?"

"Hmm?" Wexor was scanning through the video.

"Thimble, or whatever her name is? Doesn't she flirt with you all the time?"

"The hacker known as Thimble poses as a seventeen year old Korean girl, yes," Wexor agreed with a nod as he continued with the video. "But Thimble's real name is Gerald Green. He's an overweight man of fifty-six with a grey beard. He lives at 423 Rake Avenue in southern Shivington."

Tamara blinked in surprise. "He told you that?"

"No," replied Wexor as he leaned forward. One particular segment of the video seemed to intrigue him. "I had another hacker investigate him – some red-headed agoraphobic girl with connections to the FBI… There!" He paused the video.

Tamara leaned in closer. "What are you looking at?" The screen showed a grainy video of a street in Stilwater.

Wexor typed on the keyboard and the video shrunk. His brought up and opened a folder containing photos and documents.

"On April the fifteenth, a Friday, a handful of the Saints were attacked in Prawn Court at approximately 9pm. The aggressors consisted of a pair of Samedi aiding two of Stilwater's pimps and their hired thugs. These pimps…" At this point he pulled up two photos of the attackers. "...were known as Papa Pants and Two-Tone."

Tamara nodded. "I remember them. They're the two the Boss told us to investigate."

"That is correct," Wexor agreed. "Unfortunately, Golden D, one of the prominent pimps in southern Stilwater, had no knowledge of the activities of these rogue pimps prior to their demise."

"I remember that, too," Tamara snickered. "Thought D was gonna shit himself when you were talking to him."

"Mm, yes." He minimized the photos. "One of the antagonists that survived was a thug that used to go by the name of Tyrone."

Tamara glanced over at him. "Used to?"

"I found him."

"Oh," She shifted in the chair to get more comfortable. "And what did you do with him?"

"Which piece?"

Tamara sighed. "Go on with the story."

"Before his unfortunate, and admittedly painful, demise…" Wexor continued as he maximized the video once again, "Tyrone was kind enough to inform me that a week before the incident, Papa Pants had been approached at Club Koi in Bavogian Plaza by a large and garishly dressed pimp that he had never seen before."

"Well, how can you really tell if they're dressed like that?" she asked.

He turned to look at her, an eyebrow raised.

"I mean they're already all pimped out," she grinned. "You know bein' pimps and all."

He sighed briefly and turned back to the computer.

Tamara scowled. "Dead puppies," she muttered quietly.

Wexor continued. "Tyrone said Papa Pants had gone to meet this unknown individual at the _Diamond in the_ _Muff_ strip club on Littmer Street in Rebadeaux on the eleventh of April. This…" He moved over so she could see the screen better. "…is footage of Littmer Street from the eleventh of April." He pointed to the right side of the video with a dark grin. "And there is the _Diamond in the Muff_."

Tamara leaned forward and furrowed her brow. "This seems like it's from across the street or something…"

"It is," he confirmed. "It's footage from the outside camera of _Marco's Porno_ on Littmer."

She looked at him again. "Next to the _Porno Palace_?"

"The same." He moved back to the screen and fast-forwarded the video. After a moment he paused it and pointed to a group of individuals near the doorway to the club. "There is Papa Pants entering." He rewound the video a bit. "That is Two-Tone." He rewound the video further still. "And there…" He leaned forward, an intense gleam in his eyes. "There is the man I'm looking for."

Tamara squinted at the screen. The figure Mr. Kind had indicated seemed to be a big, heavyset man with long frizzy hair exploding out from under a dark top hat. The long pimp coat he wore and huge pimp cane he carried completed his ensemble. Much of the finer details were obscured by the lack of film quality in the grainy, black and white video.

"Can't tell much from that." she observed. "Can you make the video any better?" She waved her hands around. "Y'know, so we can see his face at least?"

"This isn't _CSI Stilwater_," he remarked dryly. "This is as good as it's going to get."

"So who is he?"

"I don't know. Yet." Wexor leaned in and gazed at the figure like a hungry predator finding crippled prey. A sadistic grin came to his face as he continued, "But he now has my _full_ attention."

She shook her head as she leaned back. "You get crazy obsessed with these things." She crossed her arms. "You dig and dig. Ain't you ever let anything go? Just leave something alone, even once?"

The grin slowly faded. _Yes,_ he thought to himself. _One time – one time I didn't check as thoroughly as I should have. One time I wasn't as cautious as I should have been. _His gaze drifted down to the keyboard as his eyes misted over at the memory…

**...**

**...**

_Will, a long-time friend of both Wexor and his mother, had joined up with the Saints near the beginning in 2006. Will was the one to bring him into the gang once his own personal war with Los Carnales had gotten too costly. Despite joining for his own reasons, Wexor found himself becoming quickly enamored with the Saints' quick-rising star – her passion and hot intensity was a perfect balance to the cold hatred and calculating patience he had with him always._

_They fought and killed together. They removed all obstacles to the Saints together. And now that the other gangs were gone, he hoped that they could rule together – he and his volatile Saint, he and his queen._

_Then Julius was arrested, and things turned strange. First they had to kill Marshall Winslow, then the chief of police. He wasn't liking where this was going. Involving the government, taking on the whole city was a move he hadn't prepared for just yet. But then, the unexpected happened…_

"_It'll be okay," he remembered her saying as she sauntered over to him. "Hughes called for a truce. He knows the Saints are no push-overs. He knows the Saints are here to stay."_

_Wexor remembered just staring back at her._

"_I mean for fuck's sake, he's some fat Alderman prick! What's he gonna do?" the newly promoted second-in-command of the Saints had said with a smile. _

"_Still," Wexor had replied. "You should take someone with you."_

"_Look, I do this last thing and Julius is free!" She had put a hand up to his cheek – her touch was like a drug to him. "You worry too much." She had laughed lightly. "You take Will and Tamara to Freckle Bitches for a celebratory meal, okay. I'll meet up with you there." _

"_Going all out, are we?" was the last thing he had said to her. What a stupid, useless thing for him to utter._

"_I'll be right back," she had said with a wink as she got into her car. "Don't worry."_

_He had merely nodded as she started the engine and drove off to her fateful meeting aboard Hughes' yacht._

**...**

**...**

Wexor blinked as he realized Tamara was asking him a question.

"I… don't get your meaning," he replied, trying to obscure the fact he hadn't been listening.

"I mean the only two who knew him, Papa Pants and Two-Tone, are dead. How we gonna find out who this fool is?"

He turned his printer on and adjusted the settings.

"That's easy. We're simply going to ask." He looked over at the time. It was almost 11am. "Charlie Faulkes, the owner of the 'Diamond' usually comes in early… around 1pm. We'll go talk to him."

"A 'best to bring your guns with you, Tamara' kind of a talk?"

"That would be correct," he smiled darkly.

"I better get cleaned up then." She stood and headed to the shower.

"Well," Wexor spoke quietly. "We do have two hours. We could finish our 'business' now if you so wish."

She turned to look at him. "Seriously? You expect me to fall for that shit now?"

He rose out of his chair and moved over to her. He angled his head downward and lightly brushed his lips across her bare neck.

"Very well, then," he whispered into her skin. "I suppose I could just do an extended weapons check."

She shuddered slightly then grabbed him by the jeans.

"You really are an asshole, y'know that?" she asked as she dragged him over to the bed.

"I have been told that," he replied with a grin.

* * *

><p>It was 12:30.<p>

Wexor did a final inventory of his weapons as Tamara finished her shower. Both of his .44 Shepherds were loaded and ready in their holsters on his hips (like a modern day cowboy) as he grabbed his custom combat knife.

Crafted from a hardened, corrosion resistant, high-carbon stainless steel, one side of the blade was toothed, or jagged, as opposed to the traditional design. He gently brushed his fingers over the eight letters he had lightly etched into the blade's surface. He sheathed the blade, his gaze falling upon the gold wire wrapped around the pommel. He smiled mirthlessly – the gold wire was the last remnant of the golden pendant his fath…, correction, Alexander Kind proudly wore so long ago. It was just one more thing he took from Alexander after taking the cursed man's life.

He looked up as his printer produced the last of his copies. Waiting for the ink to dry, he perused the prints. Tamara was right - the large figure was blurry, but it was the best he had. He would somehow find this individual for the Boss as he had done so many other things for her…

**...**

**...**

_He'd been blind-sided at the odd turn of events. His fiery, passionate Saint had fallen, destroyed on the yacht that also claimed the life of Alderman Hughes. Then, to compound matters, Troy Bradshaw, the previous second-in-command of the Saints turned out to be an undercover police officer._

_How? How had he been taken so unaware? It wasn't like him. His emotions had clouded his better judgment._

_As Mr. Kind, he had power, control. As a Saint, Wexor was open, vulnerable. _

_He knew what must be done. Wexor the Saint needed to vanish and Mr. Kind needed to rise once again._

_He retreated to Little Shanghai and began looking for ways to rebuild his spheres of influence. Julius was still missing and the other members of the Saints' hierarchy vanished. Lin had been murdered by the Rollerz. Dexter left to become private security for a corporate conglomerate, and Johnny Gat… well, being Johnny Gat decided to try and murder Troy. It only led to his own incarceration._

_Mr. Kind, however, had patience, a trait he learned long ago and that patience served him now. He shielded his allies as best he could – Will and Tamara he managed to keep safe. Mr Wong had went overseas and Ned, the crazy guy in the chicken suit… actually he never found out what happened to Ned._

_And his patience paid off._

_He discovered his fallen Saint was still alive, but in a coma and under heavy guard at the Stilwater Penitentiary. He paid money to follow her progress, so he would know when she came out of the coma. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks to months, Mr Kind realized that more permanent measures may be needed. _

_Johnny had been assaulted by the guards in prison before the traitorous Troy took over as the new Chief of Police; afterwards, Johnny seemed safe, although Mr Kind doubted that Johnny would be very appreciative. No one would be there to watch over the comatose girl, however._

_Transferring large sums of his personal finances that he accumulated long ago, Mr Kind managed to position certain people in the prison to watch over his Saint. Guards were bribed, doctors were hired and thugs were bought. Stenno, one of his most trusted contacts outside of the Saints, arranged everything perfectly. _

_He rebuilt his power, rebuilt his finances and during that time, he waited. For four years._

_Then finally, she awoke._

_Plans he had prepared were set into motion. Information was gathered. Money changed hands. And a young man who still had revered the memory of the Third Street Saints was quietly informed by channels Mr. Kind set up that the comatose patient was now awake. The young man, named Carlos, managed to break the fallen Saint out and lead her back to Stilwater._

_The first thing she did was free Johnny Gat and build a new crew, a new gang of Saints._

_And Mr Kind went to her side, only to discover the drastic changes that had taken place. His fallen Saint had returned but instead of the hot intensity and passion she displayed before the accident, she was now cold, hateful, and distant._

_She would not give her trust up so easily this time and she slowly crushed everything that blocked her way. Without Julius to temper her, however, the new Boss of the Saints laughed off any reasonable approach at organization, something that Mr Kind, even in his weakest moments, had always thought was necessary. Serious thought for the future was abandoned and she became nothing but a cold reactionary force._

_The woman that he spent the past four years waiting for seemed lost…_

**...**

**...**

"It's quarter to 1," Tamara announced as she pulled her boots on, bringing him back to the present. "Let's do this."

"Yes," he muttered quietly. "Let's."

* * *

><p><strong>Rebadeaux Neighborhood, Red Light District, Stilwater<strong>

**Monday, May 9, 2011, 1:02pm**

_**The Diamond in the Muff**_

Charlie Faulkes had just finished wiping down the bar and was getting ready to count down the registers when the front door of the club was kicked in. He jumped as two figures quickly entered.

The first was a well-built black woman who had a GDHC.50 pistol pulled out and did a quick sweep of the room. The second was a tall man with a long lean athletic build. He had spiky black hair over a sharp featured clean-shaven face. He was well dressed with black aviators, black jeans, a dark purple buttoned down shirt, black vest, and a black leather duster.

"The hell,?"

"What's up, _Chuck_?" the sinister man purred, a smile flashing across his face.

"W-What… what do you want?"

"At the moment," the Saints' cleaner began, "I want you to call Curly out here."

Charlie stared dumbly back at them.

"Your chief bouncer? Curly?" The killer leaned in close. "Summon him here."

The club's owner nodded and pressed a button located underneath the bar. A moment later the backdoor opened.

"Ah, Curly," Dyson grinned at the tall bald man in the sports jacket that appeared. "Please, would you take a seat?"

"Boss?" the new arrival looked over at the club's owner.

Dyson fast-drew one of his pistols, cocked the hammer back and pulled the trigger.

_**BLAM!**_

A quarter-size hole blew through the bouncer's left leg, collapsing him.

"I asked nicely once," Dyson growled as he stalked forward. He cocked the hammer of his revolver back once more. "Now…** TAKE A FUCKING SEAT BEFORE I PAINT THE WALLS WITH YOUR FUCKING BRAINS!"**

The bouncer whimpered as he struggled to pull himself over to one of the chairs. After a moment he was finally able to get into a seat.

"Now then, Chuck," he turned his attention to the bar owner once more. He reached inside his duster and withdrew the pictures he had printed out. He tossed them on the bar.

"What's this?" Charlie asked.

"This individual is, or was rather, known as Papa Pants." He had pointed to the first picture then moved to next. "This gentleman was called Two-Tone." He finally indicated the last picture. "But him I don't know. Who is he?" the cleaner asked, looking over his aviators. "Tell me and there'll be no problems." He glanced over at the wounded bouncer. "Well, no _more_ problems."

"Why… why should I tell you?" Charlie growled back, a rare streak of courage surging forward. "You Saints don't own me."

"Excuse me?" Dyson asked, taken aback.

"Y-you can't hurt me," Charlie leaned forward, his hands on the bar. "The Ronin control this neighborhood. You Saints need to leave before there's a serious problem."

Dyson stared at the man, pulling his aviators off and tucking them into his inside coat pocket.

"Well, there was going to be a couple of thousand dollars in it for you," the Saints' representative replied. "Now, however…"

In a blur of movement, Dyson reached behind his back and unsheathed his knife. He brought it forward and slammed the steel blade through Charlie Faulkes' left hand and deep into the top of the wooden bar.

Charlie screamed as his hand was pinned to the bar. He looked down in horror at the weapon protruding through his flesh. It was a twelve-and-a-half inch long combat knife that had eight letters etched into the blade:

**P**

**A**

**T**

**I**

**E**

**N**

**C**

**E**

"Now, however," Dyson repeated, "you might get to keep _all_ of your fingers, if I'm in a generous mood that is. You apparently don't know who I am. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Mr. Kind."

His victim's eyes widened in horror at the name. "Oh shit! I-I didn't know, I swear!"

"That much is obvious."

As Tamara kept the wounded bouncer covered, the Saints' enforcer walked around the bar. He grabbed a bottle of cheap whiskey from one of the shelves, tilted it forward and started pouring the liquor over Charlie's head.

"You see what's on the knife, Chuck?" He indicated the blade holding Charlie's hand to the bar. "Patience. One of the first and most important lessons I ever learned." Dyson reached over and grabbed one of the small free matchbooks with the club's logo on it that were kept on the bar.

"I'm sorry," Charlie moaned, trying to shake the liquid off. "Please, god…"

"It's extremely bad form to interrupt a person when he's speaking." Dyson tapped the bartender on the head with the matchbook. "Now where was I? Ah, yes, patience…" He leaned back against the back counter as he flipped the matchbook open. "See I know, through careful and _patient_ observation, that you and your mediocre bouncer here usual come to your place around 1pm to do prep work for the night."

Dyson tore a match free.

"I also know that your next most likely employee to arrive will be the busboy, Stanley," he said with a grin. "The earliest Stanley's ever been in was at 4:30 – to pick up a paycheck last Thursday I believe. Usually he arrives a little before 6pm."

He looked up at the large clock hanging behind the bar.

"Why, that's just over three hours!" Dyson grabbed the wounded owner by the shoulder, leaned in close, and growled into his ear. "There'll be no help – none of your pathetic Ronin to even look in on you during that time. Do you have any possible idea just what I can do to you – what agonies I can inflict in three hours?" Madness flashed in his eyes.

"Oh shit no," the man bawled.

"I have the _patience_ to spend those three hours bringing you to all new heights of misery." He stood back and placed the match to the strike-pad.

"Fuck! Alright, alright!" Tears were coming to Charlie's eyes although it was hard to tell with all the alcohol coating his head. "Big Fizzy, fucking shit! His name's Big Fizzy!"

"Big…?" Dyson stared hard at the man. "You expect me to believe whatever drivel you just make up?"

"I'm not lying, please!" Charlie grabbed his left wrist with his right hand to steady himself. "His name's Big Fizzy!"

Dyson's eyes flicked over to Tamara – a questioning look on his face.

The Saints' Wheel Woman glanced back at him and shrugged as she kept the pistol trained on Curley. "I've heard worse names for some of these pimps."

Suddenly a sharp trilling emanated from the inside of Dyson's duster. The enforcer's brow furrowed as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He was surprised to see the call was from the Boss herself.

"Excuse me, but I have to take this," he explained to the sobbing man. He flipped the phone open. "Boss?"

"_Dyson?"_ the Boss inquired. _"Where you at? Whatcha doing?"_

"I'm at the Diamond in the Muff strip club. As to what I'm doing…" he paused with a glance over at Charlie who merely whimpered pathetically. "I'm about to set the alcohol-soaked head of a very uncooperative bartender on fire. Other than that nothing much." His voice got quieter. "Is there something wrong? You need me?"

She spat out her response. _"The Samedi. They killed my Saints. They tried taking what was mine."_ She seemed to pause a moment before continuing.

He wasn't sure exactly what she wanted him to do. "You want the hurt put on their businesses? You need them to feel a little financial pinch?"

"_No,"_ she answered. _"Small time stuff's over. I need you to come in. I'm done being nice. It's time."_

"Time for what?" he asked.

She hesitated then spoke a single word:

"_Retaliation."_

He smiled as he responded. "I'll be right there." He waited for her to hang-up before clicking his phone shut.

"There a problem?" Tamara asked, concern evident on her face.

"Quite the opposite," Dyson replied. He was practically beaming. He turned back to Charlie. "You my friend, are perhaps the luckiest man in the city at this very second." He grabbed the handle of his knife and yanked it violently out of the wooden bar and Charlie's hand.

Charlie fell to the floor with a yelp and held his wounded hand close.

"The only person in the entire city who could have gotten me to stop – well, she just called," he smiled. "I believe our business is concluded here." He turned to Tamara. "Let's go."

She nodded and started backing out the front door, her pistol still held steady.

"Oh one more thing," the enforcer turned back to the wounded owner and pointed at his head with the combat knife. "You try for reprisal… any of your precious Ronin even look at me or the Saints sideways…" He grinned sadistically. "Then I'll be back here. I'll find you. I will cut off both of your fucking hands and drop them in one of those high-quality expensive blenders. Then I will puree the shit of your hands, and make you drink the red pasty goo with a fucking straw. Do you understand me?"

"I… yes, yes sir," the man burbled. "No reprisals. N-no Ronin. Understood, sir."

"Good," Dyson replied as he headed for the door. "You gentlemen do have yourselves a nice day."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And there we, uh, kinda have some of Mr. Kind's background. There's still some unanswered questions, but they'll have to wait for another time, kiddies.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	28. Ep 3: Retaliation, Part 10

**Rated M: for scenes involving excessive violence, language, slight drug use and adult content. Please read no further if these aren't your thing as I do not wish to offend anyone.**

* * *

><p><strong>Episode 3: Retaliation<strong>

**Part 10**

* * *

><p><strong>Bavogian Plaza, Red Light District, Stilwater<strong>

**Monday, May 9, 2011, 3:31pm**

* * *

><p>Dice stood in front of the closed door beyond which could be heard the loud discussions of the room's occupants. She raised a hand to knock on the door – the leather of her fingerless gloves lightly crinkling as she did so.<p>

"Just like he said," she muttered quietly to herself. "On my terms. Make the situation my own. I need to own it."

She took a deep breath then knocked solidly on the door. The voices stopped.

"Who the fuck is it?" one of the voices finally answered.

"It's Dice!" she hollered back. "I need… need to talk to you about something."

A pause, then…

"Come on in!"

Dice nodded, gripped the handle and opened the door…

* * *

><p><strong>One hour earlier…<strong>

…

Dice sat alone in the mission atop the Saints' Hideout, the third pew from the end. She sat facing the double entrance, one knee drawn up to her chest, absent-mindedly flicking her switchblade open, then folding it closed again.

_**flik... k-snap... flik… k-snap…**_

She had borrowed a cell phone to call her friend Spade (having forgotten her own _yet_ again). She needed someone to talk to and Spade had promised to come to the Hideout as soon as she was able. Now, as she sat awaiting her friend's arrival in the surprisingly quiet room, her thoughts turned elsewhere…

Having witnessed firsthand the injuries of so many of her friends – Artemis and Bert being hurt just this morning – as well as the deaths of others, Dice was well aware of the seriousness of the Saints' predicament, probably more so than most. She tried to rationalize, as best she could, the insanity of the last few days. So much had happened. How'd it get so nuts?

A good portion of the Saints were, quite literally, torn to shreds - Pierce's crew in particular. Shaundi and her crew needed to step up, Dice thought. After all the Samedi – the gang currently at war with the Saints – was supposed to be dealt with by her crew, not Pierce's. Artemis and Bert were out of commission, Corey and Travis were dead, and Blake… She stopped her repetitive knife-flicking as her thoughts turned to Blake.

He laid injured three flights below her in the make-shift infirmary the Saints had set up. The impromptu kiss he had given her on the parking lot behind her apartment building last Tuesday briefly surfaced but then faded quickly. Him asking her to the movies five days after that brought a small smile to her lips, but that memory was whisked away. Even the thought of the Samedi beginning their attack on the Hideout right afterwards flickered but a moment in her mind's eye. Only one memory played over and over in her head.

"_Dice?" Blake had slurred from across the room where they had fought Skeeve, Micas and the others. The fight during which he had been wounded by Micas' machete was over. He suddenly became deathly pale and then he slumped forward._

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to fight off the next part of the memory, but it wouldn't be stopped.

_She had gone to him, trying to stop him from falling over, but he was too heavy. He thudded onto the floor and then he lay still. So very still._

She put a trembling hand to her temple as she recalled all of the blood that had coated his side and leg from the deep slashing wound – the wound so reminiscent of her father's, not in location, but in savagery. For the briefest of moments, she had honestly thought he died. She had thought she lost him.

She wanted the memory to leave, to be silent, but it was still too fresh in her mind. She wished Spade was here to talk to. She needed a distraction, anything to get the memory to go away…

"S'up, darling," came a low drawl.

Her eyes flew open at the unexpected sound, she glanced around quickly and found the speaker. He was a lean Saint, about 5'10" with a mess of blonde hair that never seemed to be combed. He had brown eyes and was chewing smugly on a toothpick that he kept tucked in the corner of his mouth. She recognized him – he was the leader of one of Pierce's main crews. He was…

"Tommy Deller," she muttered.

"In the flesh," he said with a grin.

Dice sighed. Of all of the Saints, she disliked Tommy the most. He was one of those guys that you just wanted to beat the crap out of. He was rude, spiteful towards women, and was probably the biggest jerk-off she had seen. The only reason Tommy wasn't probably kicked out of the Saints already was the fact that he brought in an impressive amount of money – more than most crew leaders. It earned him quite a bit of respect among the lower rank soldiers and allowed him the luxury of coming and going as he pleased.

Behind him were two other individuals. Gibson Dolge, sometimes called Gibby, was Tommy's second. He was a dark-eyed individual of medium height with a dark goatee. His cousin, Mabry, was also a member of Tommy's crew, but where Mabry was a good, reliable guy, Gibson was a jerk.

The third figure, currently shouldering a backpack, was a dark-haired kid named Bobby. Dice didn't remember his last name, but she did know that he was a royal pain-in-the-ass and fit in quite well with Tommy and Gibson.

Unfortunately Mabry, the only decent member of the crew, seemed absent from the group today.

Dice sighed and pulled up her other knee close to her chest as she pocketed her knife.

"How's my favorite little blonde Saint?" Tommy smirked as he and his two compatriots approached.

"Ugh," she sighed. "Whaddaya want, Tommy? I am really so not in the mood for you today."

"Just checkin' in on the crew, that's all," he replied. "Can't a guy just do that?"

Dice shrugged in response, not wanting to bother expending the energy to argue with him.

"So," he continued as he stepped up to the end of the pew she was sitting in, "I hear we got hit again. Shivington, right?"

"Yeah," she said with a sigh. "Artemis got his arm mangled. Bert was shot." A mirthless smirk came to her lips. "I got ta see Barry killed right in front of me." The smirk faded. "Nothing I could do about it."

"Damn, darling, that sucks," he responded quietly. "Mind if I take a seat?" He indicated a spot on the pew upon which she was sitting.

She glanced over at the spot next to her. Baby, her pink crowbar, was hooked over at the side of the long wooden bench about six feet from her. Her SKR-9 Threat was gone, lost amongst the wreckage of the Cheetah bus that crashed this morning in Shivington._ Great_, she thought with a deep sigh, _another two grand needed to replace that weapon. Just when I was starting to get ahead._

"Uh," he indicated the spot again.

"Whatever," she groaned as she made him room. He wasn't being a complete dick at the moment and honestly she really didn't care.

He eased down next to her.

"So what's the plan gonna be now?" he inquired. "Pierce say anything?"

"I haven't seen him yet," she admitted. "I heard that all the big guys are gonna be here though. All the lieutenants." She hesitated for a moment. "Artemis put me in charge of his crew. What's left of it anyway." She shrugged again.

"Hey, you'll do fine," he said with a nod. He gently patted her on the shoulders. "It's always rough the first mission, ya know? But you're tough. You'll pull it off."

"I guess," she muttered into her knees.

"Any word on the others that were hurt a couple days ago?" he asked, his voice sounding earnest. "I heard Tonya and Rafael weren't hurt that bad, so they already left. Any news about the others? Wasn't Mongrel laid up, too?"

She nodded quickly trying not to let herself be drawn into depression.

"Ya know," she said, surprised she was actually opening up to him. "I, uh, I was startin' to do better with it. I mean, I wasn't hurt but it still kinda hit me hard."

"Hm," he scrutinized her face, looking at the cut above her eye and the bandage she had on her chin. He gently took her face in his hand. "Looks like you were sorta beat up to me. You okay?"

"Yeah." A ghost of a smile flashed briefly on her face. "This happened today. Anyway, as I was sayin', uh, I was doin' okay with the attack from Saturday by the Samedi. But then this happened today. Kinda brought all the feelings back, ya know. Seein' Artemis banged up and Bert and Barry shot. I don't know, it just doesn't seem to end."

"I know what you mean, kiddo," he said, pulling back. "Sometimes shit just gets to ya. Sometimes it's just _too_ real."

"I know, right?" Her eyes lit up a moment. "I mean the last month or so has been shit. It's just-just a mess." She rubbed her temple again.

Tommy leaned back, his eyes narrowed. "Headache, hon?"

"No, no," she replied quickly. "Just stress. From ya know, what we were talkin' about. From all the crap."

"Need somethin' for that?" he turned and snapped his fingers at Bobby. The other Saint nodded and started reaching into his backpack.

"What, like a beer or something?" she asked as she looked over at him. A beer would be really nice right about now.

"Naw, something much better." Tommy reached up and took hold of the object that Bobby withdrew from the bag. It was a smoky white light bulb wrapped in a thin layer of bubble-wrap. He brought it around, unwrapped it carefully, and held it out to her.

She blinked as she gazed upon it and then looked up at Tommy.

"Is that…?" she began.

"Loa Dust," Tommy confirmed with a nod. "Our own brand of it. See the little purple band around the top of the screw base there? And the purple filament in the middle?" He indicated the parts on the light bulb. "Yep, my idea," he said with a proud grin. "Let's our customers know it was from the Saints. Let's the people know who their main supplier is now."

She cupped her hands and cradled the bulb gently as he handed it over to her.

"Know how to use it?" he asked.

She shook her head in the negative. She'd heard of Loa Dust, obviously – it was the primary source of income for the Sons of Samedi - but she never actually used it. She stopped using drugs; she'd gone to rehab for it. But now, here it was in her hand.

"Ya break the bulb," he explained as he put a piece of the bubble-wrap over the top and gave the glass a sharp rap with his knuckles. "Do it this way so none of the powder spills out."

He pulled the bubble-wrap away and flicked off the bits of glass that had clung to it.

"Be careful," he said as he let go of it in her hand once more. "Don't cut yourself on the edges."

She nodded numbly as she sat fascinated by the white dust contained within the broken bulb. Maybe this is what she needed to take her mind off of everything.

"Gibby, hand me your butane lighter," Tommy ordered his second.

Gibson nodded and fished a purple colored steel lighter out of his pocket in the shape of the fleur-de-lis. He passed it to the leader of his crew.

"Okay, now what you do," Tommy said, a seductive tone coming to his voice as he gently cradled Dice's hand within his own, "is you heat the bottom up, see? The fumes rise up and you just, well, you just breathe them in. Nice and gentle-like." He flashed a smile.

She looked up at him and smiled back, taking the information in. She glanced back down at the bulb in their hands as he flicked the lighter.

_**-k-chik- **_

The flame didn't come on.

"Come on now," Tommy whispered.

_**-k-chik-**_

Again nothing happened.

"Third time's the charm," he muttered quietly.

_**-k-chik-**_

The lighter ignited, the blue flame drawing Dice's tired gaze to it like a moth. She sat seduced by its solid, unwavering shape as Tommy brought it toward the bottom of the glass.

"Watch it now," he whispered gently to the girl as he leaned closer, brushing lightly against her. "Don't want to burn ya."

Dice nodded as she heard the hiss of the butane fueling the blue light. She watched in fascination as it drew closer. She suddenly realized just how bad she wanted this. It would take away the pain, the depression. All of it would be gone, at least for a little while.

She was practically salivating as the blue flame licked the underside of the bulb. She watched as the white powder shifted and slowly began to melt away. Unlike heroin which became a liquid, the Loa Dust turned into a soft white vapor appearing almost like cigarette smoke.

She waited for the vapor to become thicker before she inhaled it. Her hands were shaking with anticipation. Soon all of her problems would disappear.

The oppressive thoughts of their defeat at the hands of the Samedi would be gone. The feelings of fear and helplessness from her assault in the alley weeks ago by the pimp named Papa Pants would leave her. The memories of her wounded friends, Bert and Artemis, would vanish. The haunting look on Corey's face as he had his throat slit right in front of her would melt away. The horrible images of Blake… of Blake…

She hesitated.

Blake would be gone as well.

Another memory flooded back, an older memory. The night Blake had called her when they had been dating so long ago – when she was still with the Casino Queens. Blake's Uncle Bill had been arrested. He was ex-military and decided the courts had not done justice by his brother's family. Uncle Bill decided to go after the Samedi on his own and after causing some minor mayhem for the green-clothed gang was quickly picked up by the police.

Being law-abiding to some degree, Uncle Bill didn't resist the police. He was incarcerated and was set to see a judge. Blake had called her – Bill was the last of his family and wanted to be at court for him. Blake asked if she'd go with him, if she'd be there for him. She said yes quickly and honestly meant to go.

However, she was still at a party with Lucia, Spade, and Kat along with some people they knew. And after a few drinks and a couple happy doses of drugs (she couldn't even remember which kind now) she had blissfully forgotten everything. It wasn't until late the _next night_ that she even remembered he had called.

She'd panicked and quickly phoned him to see if he was alright. She was ill-prepared for his cold response. Blake's Uncle Bill pled guilty to the charges, but the judge was in no mood to be lenient. His Uncle Bill received the maximum sentence and was sent to Stilwater Penitentiary. Blake was angry, she could tell, and he told her how disappointed he was. The words struck harder than even he had meant them to.

He'd always been there for her; he was always patient with her. Whenever she needed anything, he was the first person she could count on. But the only time he had ever asked her for anything, the only time he really, truly needed her to be there she had failed.

His words, his tone tore into her. She felt shame, for the first time during all of the events in her life, she actually felt shame. She had been angry with herself when her parents died, and had cared little as she committed various crimes as a Casino Queen, but never had she felt so guilty about anything before. She finally realized how important Blake had become to her.

She wanted to set things right, but poor decision making on her part led to her breaking up with him (she saw it as the only way to stop from hurting him further). She wanted to fix herself, she wanted to get better – and she actually did.

But it cost her over a year-and-a-half of her relationship with him.

Now, here in the present, they were so close to getting back together. She was so close to being with him again. And now she was about to make the same mistake again.

_Not this time,_ she thought bitterly. _Not again. Never again._

Dice shoved the broken glass away from her face, the sudden motion knocking it from their combined grasp. The light bulb shattered as it hit the floor several feet away. She turned her head, careful not to breathe in the white fumes.

"The hell?" Tommy yelped as he leaned back.

"I'm sorry, Tommy," she apologized quickly. "I just… Not now. I don't need this right now."

"That's like fifty bucks worth of product," he grimaced as he stood. "Damn it."

"I'll-I'll pay you back for it," she promised. "I'm good for the money."

"I was gonna take it out in trade," he muttered. "Now, if you want any more, you'll have to give up more."

"Take it out in trade?" Confusion was on her face. "What kinda trade?" Then she paused as realization hit her. "What the fuck? You thought you were gonna get laid?" She stood and balled her fists, the leather of her fingerless gloves crinkled as she did so. "Seriously?"

"Hey, just thought I'd make it a deal for you," he smirked. "Guess we'll have to come up with some other arrangement."

"A deal?" She glowered at him. "Are you fucking serious? You couldn't _pay_ me to be with your limp-dick ass." She made a move for the end of the pew where Baby lay hooked over the side. "Get out of my way!"

"You're in no position to make demands, little bitch," Tommy growled as he nodded to Bobby behind her.

Bobby nodded back and grabbed her roughly from behind, wrapping his arm around neck.

"Let go of me!" she ordered as she reached into her pocket and retrieved her knife. "I said LET GO!" She flicked the blade out and shoved the steel weapon up behind her. The blade sank deep into Bobby's left shoulder and he released her with a cry of pain. The weapon was torn from her grasp as Bobby stumbled backwards.

Dice quickly righted herself then turned towards Tommy.

"For once, just once," she cried as she moved forward. "I thought that you weren't being an ass." She lunged at him, but he stepped back. "That you weren't being a total dick. God, how stupid am I?"

"Pretty stupid actually," he agreed. "Not quite sure why Artemis is lettin' your skank-ass run his crew in the first place." A twisted grin split his face. "They'll be in body-bags within a week. Course, Mongrel is close enough to that now."

Dice's eyes widened in fury as a familiar wave of heat came over her.

"DIE!" she screamed, leaping forward.

Tommy caught her by the shoulders and shoved her back, right into Gibson's waiting grasp. He held on tight as Tommy moved toward the pair.

"Not so tough are you, bitch?" Tommy growled dangerously as he crept forward. "None of your friends here to help you now."

Dice struggled against Gibson for a moment, but his grip was solid. However, as Tommy approached she was actually glad Gibson held her so tightly. As Tommy closed the distance, Dice leaned back and pulled her legs up, kicking him square in the chest with both feet, knocking him away.

As her legs fell back down, Dice went forward with the momentum, then suddenly slammed her head backwards, smashing it up into Gibson's face. She felt something break – either Gibson's nose or teeth (hopefully both) – as he released her. She caught herself before falling to the ground.

Tommy, however, was not so fortunate. He had stumbled back and caught his foot on the base of the rear-most pew just as two figures entered through the mission's double-doors. He tripped and collided with the taller of the two figures.

"You need to watch where you're going," the newcomer purred in a low voice.

"You need to fuck off!" Tommy ordered as he tried to right himself. He shoved the man wearing the black duster backwards into the wall then finally got a good look at the intruder. His eye widened in horror.

The new arrival was a lean man with pale skin and spiky black hair. As he pushed off the wall, the man adjusted the black aviators that had slipped off of his nose.

"Is that so?" the man growled. He was the cleaner of the Saints, one of the most dangerous men in the city. He was…

"Mr. Kind!" Tommy squeaked. "I-I didn't know it was you. Oh my god, I-I'm sorry!"

"Not yet," the killer spoke quietly, then his left hand shot out and gripped the younger man by the throat. He spun around quickly and slammed the lesser Saint solidly into the wall. "But you will be sorry soon." Mr. Kind drew one of his .44Shepherds with his free hand. "Of that I'm certain."

"The fuck's going on here?" his companion asked. She was Tamara Robbson, the Wheel Woman of the Saints. She took in the situation quickly then glared at Tommy. "You trying to jump one of your own?"

"It-it was a misunderstandin' is all," Tommy whined.

"Is that true?" the enforcer glanced quickly at Dice.

"Misunderstanding?" Dice scoffed with a laugh. "Fuck you, Tommy! Trying to force your limp-dick ass on me."

A cold hatred overcame Mr Kind's face as he turned back to the younger Saint. It was darker than anything Thomas Deller had seen before in his life.

"You tried to _rape_ her, Tommy?" the killer hissed.

"Well," Dice muttered, "I didn't exactly say rape."

"Open your fucking mouth, Tommy," Mr Kind ordered.

Tommy shook in his grasp, overcome with fear.

"OPEN. YOUR. FUCKING. MOUTH." he repeated.

Slowly, the skinny blonde Saint opened his mouth. The Saints' killer laid the barrel of his revolver inside, scraping Tommy's lower teeth.

"I just blew a hole the size of a quarter through some man's leg not an hour ago. I was at a range of at least fourteen feet." The killer leaned in closer as an evil smile formed on his lips. "Imagine what this gun will do to the back of your head at this range."

Tommy whimpered.

"I didn't…" Dice began as she stepped forward. "I had everything under control." She looked around. "He, uh, just said that I owed him some money for some Loa Dust I spilled. He wanted me to pay it off 'in trade'."

"Really?" Mr Kind glanced to the small girl, then back to Tommy. "I think her debt's paid off now." He clicked back the hammer of his revolver. Tommy squirmed as he felt the steel barrel reverberate inside his head. "Or do think she still owes you something?"

"Nuh, iz kuul," the young man mumbled. "Doff ow mmm nuffin."

"What's that?" the dark man moved in close, inches away from Tommy's face. "She paid you too much?"

"Uff, wa?"

"And you want to give her back the extra money?" Mr Kind leaned back with a dark grin. "That's so very generous of you." The grin vanished. "Empty your fucking wallets."

"Wad da fuk?" Gibson mumbled through his broken face as he stumbled forward.

"Nuh uh, fucker!" Tamara called out as she pulled her pistol and aimed it at the approaching man. "You take one more step and I drop you quicker than I dropped my panties at prom."

"I will say this one last time," Mr Kind purred. "All of your money, now. Everything. Cash, guns, whatever. Do it, or I _will_ kill you all."

Tommy quickly reached into his back pocket and pulled a large wad of cash from it. He dumped it on the ground. Gibson and Bobby followed suit.

"Thank you," the dark man said as he looked over his aviators at Tommy. "Now, understand this: the only reason I'm not going to kill you is because that may deprive the young lady there," at this he indicated Dice with a nod of his head, "the pleasure of kicking the shit out of you herself."

Tommy nodded.

Mr Kind then leaned close in to his victim again. "But, you're done here, you get me. I see you here at Club Purgatory or the Red Light Loft again… I get even a whiff of your shit-ass again…" He smiled and his eyes flashed with pure malice. "Well then, I'll do something to you and your boys that'll shock even _me_. Do you understand me?"

Tommy whimpered as he shook his head – as well as he was able to with the barrel of a gun sticking out of his mouth.

The killer released his throat, slowly relaxed the hammer back and pulled the gun out of Tommy's mouth.

"Oh, and please wear diapers next time," Mr Kind groused with a wrinkle of his nose. The front of Tommy's jeans was wet.

Tommy, his face red, nodded again and signaled for Bobby and Gibson to follow him quickly out of the mission. They bumped into Spade as she was entering.

"Ow, fuckers!" she called after them. "Rude much?" She came around the corner and almost walked into Tamara's pistol. "Whoa, what the hell?"

"She's with me!" Dice cried out, moving forward. "I called her here!"

"What's going on?" Spade looked around the room. The tension was palpable.

Mr Kind and Tamara put away their guns and started gathering all of the money and goods left behind. Bobby's backpack was among the possessions collected.

"We got two Vice9s, three NR4s, about sixteen of those Loa Dust light bulb things, " Tamara was calling out as she glanced through their take. "And about thirteen hundred dollars. Most of it from wet britches himself," she finished with a laugh.

Dice explained the situation to Spade as Tamara and her boss went through the items.

Mr Kind did some quick estimates in his head, then turned to Dice. "I believe your share would be about two thousand dollars." He collected the money from Tamara and added about seven hundred dollars from his own wallet. He held it out to her.

Dice hesitated as she looked at the man in black. Two thousand? That'd be enough to buy herself a new SKR-9 Threat.

"Don't worry," he purred. "I don't bite, much."

Dice smirked, then reached a tentative hand forward. As she gripped the money, the Saints' enforcer leaned forward quickly, his lips brushing against her ear. In a low, calm voice he whispered to her.

"I am most impressed that you held your own as outnumbered as you were," he commended her. "But always be wary of your surroundings. Don't let your enemies rile you up, never attack on their conditions. Strike when you're ready, on _your _terms, never before. Make the situation your own. Own it. And when you do…" he grinned sadistically, "destroy them utterly."

Dice had stiffened at his sudden movement. His closeness raised the hairs on the back of her neck. She merely nodded.

He stood up again. "You remind of someone," his thoughts turning to another feisty young woman he met nearly five years ago. He shook his head. "Regardless, I hope you never change."

"Uh, thanks, I guess," was all Dice could reply.

"Yeah," said Spade quickly as she stepped forward. She held out her hand. "Thanks for helping my friend. I'm, uh, Spade by the way."

Mr Kind looked at her hand and raised an eyebrow. "As you say." He turned to Tamara. "C'mon the Boss is waiting." The two senior criminals continued on their way with Tommy's stash in tow.

"Fuck, he is hot," Spade muttered while biting her lower lip.

"Yeah," Dice agreed. "He smells good when he's close, too. Kinda spicy and stuff."

Spade looked at her friend. "What was that?"

"Huh?" Dice blinked. "Wait, what'd I say?"

Spade scowled and was about to say something when she noticed a patch of red getting bigger on the back of Dice head.

"I think you're bleeding, babe," the tall brunette informed her diminutive friend.

"Probably when I smashed Gibson in the face… OW!" The latter was exclaimed as Spade touched the spot.

"Sorry," the taller girl winced. "You gonna be okay? Maybe we should take you down to that pseudo-infirmary you Saints got going on downstairs."

Dice pondered the suggestion for a moment, then her thoughts trailed off to something else Mr Kind had said to her. She blinked as she realized her friend was waving her hand in front of her face.

"Huh?"

"Earth to Dice?" Spade was saying. "Oh, you're back – that's nice." Spade shifted her weight to one hip. "Yeah, you mighta been concussed there. Maybe we need to head down."

"No," Dice started. "I mean, yeah, I need to go downstairs, but not to the infirmary. I need to stop off somewhere else first." She nodded. "I need to pull myself up, get my shit together. I need to own the situation, just like he said."

"Who?" Spade asked, confusion on her face.

"I know what I need to do," Dice confirmed aloud then headed quickly towards the stairs leading to Club Purgatory, Spade hurrying after her.

* * *

><p><strong>Bavogian Plaza, Red Light District, Stilwater<strong>

**Monday, May 9, 2011, 3:31pm**

**...**

Dice knew what she wanted to do, what she needed to do.

Rather than feel sorry for herself, she needed to act, to help in some way. Too many people were counting on her and it was time she took charge, time she took care of her crew like Artemis had asked.

She explained her plan to Spade who voiced caution, but would support whatever decision Dice decided to make. Dice had thanked her, gave her a hug and then went to the Boss's room.

The lieutenants were meeting there now. They were discussing plans, ways to make the Samedi pay for what they had done to the Saints – and Dice wanted in on that.

Would they let her? She was, after all, just the temporary head of a four-man crew that could really only call upon two of its four members.

In didn't matter, she had to at least make the effort.

Dice stood in front of the closed door beyond which could be heard the loud discussions of the leaders of the Saints. She raised a hand to knock on the door – the leather of her fingerless gloves lightly crinkling as she did so.

"Just like he said," she muttered quietly to herself, remembering the advice of Mr Kind. "On my terms. Make the situation my own. I need to own it."

She took a deep breath and knocked solidly on the door. The voices stopped.

"Who the fuck is it?" a voice answered – the Boss herself.

"It's Dice!" she hollered back. "I need… need to talk to you about something."

A pause, then…

"Come on in!"

Dice nodded, gripped the handle and opened the door…

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Great, now we got Dice taking advice from Mr. Kind. That couldn't possibly end in any sort of calamitous way, now could it?**


	29. Ep 3: Retaliation, Part 11

**A/N:**

**This chapter was driving me nuts. My notes for this chap before I wrote it were [**_**Boss meets with Saints**_**]. That was it. It became so frustrating that I nearly quit this story altogether.**

**Luckily, my good bud, **_**High Mage Lady Hawkmoon**_** was there to help me through it. She gave me a lot of encouragement when I really needed it. **

**Consequently, I'm dedicating this chapter to her. Thanks, **_**HMLH**_**!**

* * *

><p><strong>Episode 3: Retaliation<strong>

**Part 11**

* * *

><p><strong>Bavogian Plaza, Red Light District, Stilwater<strong>

**Monday, May 9, 2011, 3:20pm**

**Club Purgatory**

**The Boss's Room**

* * *

><p>Shouldering the backpack she retrieved from the Saint named Bobby upstairs in the Mission, Tamara followed Dyson into the Boss's room. It was a work in progress.<p>

The floor and connecting bathroom had been redone – they looked brand new. The walls were another story: not one of them was finished. There were many holes in them, two of which were so large and deep that you could see the support studs as well as random wiring that was connected to nothing. There was a large queen-size bed dominating the middle of the northern wall of the room, the down comforters a mix of Saints Purple and Ivory White. Next to it was a large dark-grey reinforced safe bolted to the ground, keeping the Boss' stash secure. The rest of the furnishings left a lot to be desired.

In the southwest corner of the room, was a large wooden table that had seen better days. Around it were five figures.

"Yo, about time your ass showed up here!" one of the five called out in an amused tone as Dyson walked through the door. He was the second-in-command of the Saints – Johnny Gat.

A well muscled Asian American, Johnny stood about 5'9". He wore his white tipped hair in a flat top and his rectangular silver-wire glasses were slightly tinted. He was dressed in his signature black pinstriped slacks with a white tee under a purple silk shirt. The purple shirt was perhaps half-a-size too small and clung well to Johnny's well-defined torso Tamara noticed with not a little appreciation.

"Ah, it's been a while hasn't it, Mr Gat?" Dyson replied.

"Mr Gat?" the senior Saint asked with a grin. "The fuck you getting' all formal for? Makes you sound like Legal Lee. Don't know if I like that – he didn't do so well at my trial, y'know?"

"But you did make it out of there, though, didn't you?"

"No thanks to Lee," another person interjected as she sauntered forward. She was an athletic woman of mixed Chinese and American descent in her mid-twenties and standing about 5'8". Her long hair was currently pulled back in a high ponytail. She had added highlights to it since the last time Tamara had seen her: the natural black color now had neon purple tips. Her features were soft and her full lips were twisted into a confident smirk as she approached the pair. It was none other than the Leader of the Third Street Saints herself.

"Tamara," the Boss addressed the Wheel Woman of the Saints as her smirk became a smile of friendship. She held out a hand and grasped Tamara's, pulling her close into a half-hug/half-shoulder bump.

"Hey, Boss," she said with a nod and a smile of her own. Tamara's gaze continued beyond the Boss and Johnny. Around the table stood the other Lieutenants of the Saints: Pierce, Shaundi, and Carlos. The big-time players were out. Her eyes quickly fell onto the table itself.

Atop it was a large fold-out map of Stilwater and the surrounding bays. Various colors were marked on the map – yellow, red, green, a few grey areas and some smattering of purple. She understood immediately; this was a war council and battle plans were being made.

"Oh, hey, I see ya got business ta take of," Tamara muttered quickly. "So I'll just scat."

"Fuck that shit," the Boss responded as she briefly glanced back at her assembled Lieutenants. "You can stay. You've proven yourself. Gave me rides before I owned my first car." She faced Tamara once again. "Hell, you've been a homie and a friend to me longer than anyone else here."

"'Scuse me?" Johnny called out. "I met you first – at your canonizing, remember?"

"Yeah, but I didn't like you then," she called over her shoulder with a grin. "Always thought you were a stuck-up prima donna with an attitude problem."

"And now?" her second-in-command pressed, eyebrow raised.

"Now?" The Boss snickered. "Now I think you're a stuck-up prima donna with an attitude problem – and some mad skills."

"Throw in 'bad-ass' and I can live with that," he grinned.

The Saints' Leader laughed loudly then she turned and focused her attention on her cleaner.

"Dyson," she greeted.

Tamara glanced over at the Saints' hitman as he moved forward. He'd taken off his Aviators and tucked them away. He always did that whenever he was near the Boss – he wanted to look upon her without any obstruction. He always stood a little taller, a little straighter when she was near and his cornflower blue eyes never left the young woman's face.

Tamara took a half-step back and swiftly averted her gaze in shame as a momentary pang of jealousy jabbed ever so lightly. She knew she had no right to think that way and quickly suppressed the feeling. But, she thought, to only have him look at _me_ that way; hell, to have _any_ man look at me that way. What Dyson and she had was fun, but Tamara did (sort of) have her boyfriend, Trey. And Dyson…

She glanced back up at the enforcer.

Dyson still loved the Boss. After all this time – all the years, all the waiting. He dropped everything to go see her whenever she called. In a way, he was her faithful hound. The Boss didn't treat him like that, of course, but still…

Her gaze flitted over to the Boss. Friendship was displayed on their Leader's face and in her eyes. It was warm, deep and affectionate, but it was just friendship.

Tamara shook her head as she remembered times past, just over five years ago. Dyson and the Boss had been lovers then. They rocked the city and all of the Saints expected them to ascend to the throne should Julius ever fall or step down, but the incident at the Alderman's yacht changed all that. It changed _the Boss_…

Shortly after her return from the coma and from Stilwater Penitentiary itself, when Dyson, Will and Tamara had returned to her side, the Boss had confided in Tamara when they had been alone one day. She still had her memories of a lot of things that had happened before the accident, but the feelings were gone. She had told Tamara that she felt a strange disconnect with the memories – a detachment. It was almost as if her memories were like a movie: she was outside looking in. She still had emotions, but now everything took a backseat to a constant dark, cold anger that seemed to want to overwhelm everything. Only constant violence seemed to stem the anger she almost always felt.

It seemed the accident took more from the Boss than just four years of her life.

"You guys bring me a gift or something?" the Leader of the Saints asked, eyeing the backpack slung over Tamara's shoulder.

Dyson hesitated a moment then his familiar grin lit up his face.

"Sure. Hand her the bag, Tamara."

"But what about our cut?" she questioned.

Dyson's eyes flicked over to her with a dark glare.

"A'ight. Damn," she mumbled.

The Boss's eyes narrowed. "What's going on?"

"Do you, by any chance, know of a Saint named Tommy?" He took the proffered bag from Tamara and handed it over to his Boss. "He had some… little minions with him, so he may be the leader of a crew."

"Uh," Pierce said as he cleared his throat. "One of my boys, uh… One of my crews is headed by a kid named Tommy. Skinny white boy, blonde hair?"

"Yes, that sounds like him," Dyson purred as he leaned forward. "He's done at the Hideout and the Red Light District. He and his crew can hang at the University Loft in Frat Row but he's not welcome here anymore."

Pierce hesitated for a moment. "You mind tellin' me why? I mean he is one of my top moneymakers."

"Because I said so," the enforcer stated matter-of-factly. "You don't need another reason."

"You ain't the Boss," Pierce retorted. "You don't get to just make that kind of call."

A dangerous look danced across Dyson's face as he took a step forward.

"And you obviously put more importance on your place in the grand scheme of things, little man." The enforcer flipped the side of his duster back revealing the .44Shepherd on his right hip. "Allow me to enlighten you on just how replaceable you are." His hand moved toward his revolver.

Pierce backed up, worry on his face. Shaundi and Carlos started moving out of the way just as the Boss interspaced herself between her enforcer and the current target of his wrath.

"Dyson, stop!" she commanded. "What's going on?"

"One of the Saints, a girl, was attacked by Tommy and his boys," Tamara explained quickly.

The Boss hazarded a glance in Tamara's direction while keeping herself in front of Dyson.

"She was fightin' them when Wexor and me showed up," the Wheel Woman went on. "We thought they were tryin' to assault one of their own… maybe even rape her. We weren't sure."

"The fuck's up with your crew, Pierce?" the Boss growled over her shoulder at him. "Yeah, I'm gonna agree with Dyson on this one. Just be lucky he didn't blow your boy away." She turned back toward the enforcer. "The girl okay?"

Such was his focus on Pierce it took Dyson a moment to realize he was being addressed.

"Hmm, yes. She seemed fine when we left." He nodded as he finally looked at her. "Tough little thing – I quite liked her attitude."

"Yo, we gonna do this, or what?" Johnny called out from behind the table, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that Dyson had been ready to kill one of the Boss's Lieutenants. "These green fuckers are laughing at us and its time they paid."

"Yeah, okay," the Boss agreed, then she looked back at Dyson. "Can you focus on the shit we need to do? You alright with this now?"

"I'll do whatever you require of me," he said with a slight nod, then he flipped his duster back in front of his revolver indicating the matter with Pierce was settled.

"Good," said the Boss, "cuz we're gonna pay these Samedi fucks for hurtin' the Saints. For hurting' _my_ Saints!"

She moved back over to the table.

"Alright, listen up," their leader began as she pointed to locations on the map. "We control Bavogian Plaza, Frat Row, Pleasantview, and Shivington. We're getting some decent green from them as well as some of the businesses located in those neighborhoods." She leaned in at the map. "There's also a trickle of cash coming from Old Stilwater and the Stilwater Caverns, but nothing to brag about."

"What about Pilsen?" asked Shaundi. "I thought we had that, too."

"A bit of'a mix-up as to who was in charge of the party on that one," the Boss remarked dryly. "It slipped through our fingers. Won't happen again, right?" She glanced at Carlos who dropped his head quickly.

"No, ma'am, er, Boss," the young Hispanic Lieutenant muttered.

"Anyway, that's in the past," the Boss looked up again, eyes alighting on each of them in turn. "We been hit – twice – by these voodoo fucktards and that shit's done. Thanks to Shaundi, we know there's a half dozen helicopters bringing in new product to the Samedi territories this Friday. We're gonna stop'em."

Dyson narrowed his eyes. "So a concerted effort. Each of us takes out one of the copters."

"Nope," the Boss grinned. "One vehicle with me in it. I'm icing these motherfuckers personally."

"You want me as shotgun? You drive, I kill?"

"Nope," the head of the Saints said with a shake of her head. "Pierce is driving me."

"Excuse me?" This time it was Tamara who spoke up. "The doo rag wearin' whine-ass is gonna be your driver…? When I'm one of your choices? Wow – we almost ended our friendship."

The Saints' Leader snorted.

"No, Pierce an' me, well, let's call it a… _bonding experience_," she explained. "Sort've a '_get to know your employees_' kinda thing'.

"Then what am I doing here?" the cleaner asked.

"Well, you got your choice – you and Tamara can ride with me and Pierce in the back..." the Boss started.

A barely contained squawk of protest came from Tamara, but Dyson broke in.

"Or?"

"Or," the Saints' leader continued, "you two can help Johnny, Shaundi and Carlos capture the Ultor Dome Neighborhood from the Samedi." A dark grin formed on her lips. "Apparently, the General used up a good portion of his soldiers that were supposed to be in control of that territory to attack us here at the Mission. Lost a lot of'em, too. It should be easy to take."

"Well, then," Dyson murmured, "if the Neighborhood is as weak as you say, Johnny should be able to take it in his sleep, much less with the assistance of two of your Lieutenants."

"True dat," Johnny was quick to reply. "But the Saints've been attacked a lot lately. Boss doesn't want anyone goin' alone." He put a hand up to the side of his face and whispered loudly. "It's cuz she's worried 'bout me. Ain't that sweet? I'm her favorite."

"No," the Boss growled in annoyance. "It's cuz that 'hood will be worth a lot after it belongs to the Third Street Saints. You goin' off on your own will most likely wind up with the place leveled and of no use to anyone."

Johnny rubbed his chin. "Yeah, that may happen. But it'd be fun."

She let out a heavy sigh and started picking at a thin silver chain she'd been wearing. It was a necklace with two small silver medallions on them.

"What's this then?" Dyson asked. "Something new from _On Thin Ice_?"

"No," the Boss replied. "A present."

"A what?" the enforcer blinked unsure that he heard correctly.

"A present, from Carlos." She turned to look at her youngest Lieutenant. "Who're they again?"

"_Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe -_ The Mother Mary," the young man said with a quiet smile. "And Saint Leonard."

The woman turned back and looked at the medallions for a moment, then she smirked.

"Yeah, the Patron Saint of Criminals. They got one of them; ya believe that shit?" She chuckled lightly. "Carlos gave it to me as a present – said they're for protection. He says I need lookin' after."

Tamara noticed a grim look briefly flash across Dyson's face – never a good sign.

"Did he indeed?" the dark man muttered as his eyes flicked over to Carlos and began to bore into him. The quiet smile vanished from the young Lieutenant's lips.

The Boss focused on Dyson again.

"So anyway," she continued, bringing Dyson's gaze back to her. "Which'll it be? Going with Pierce and me?" Behind her Johnny frowned and shook his head 'no'. "Or going with Gat and the others?" Johnny nodded with a wry smirk as he pointed to himself, obviously in favor of the latter.

The Saints' cleaner looked down and briefly examined the map, finally coming to his decision.

"Neither."

"Ya wanta run that by me again," the Boss mumbled. "I'm not sure I caught that."

"I said neither," repeated Dyson. "I'll strike here." He pointed to a spot on the north side of the river that split Stilwater into two halves. "I'll take the Elysium Fields Trailer Park. It's one neighborhood, I can do that."

"Okay, well, that's not an option," the woman remarked. "Or weren't you listening?"

"If we start hitting the Samedi on multiple sides, there's a good chance that they're going to retreat away until they can recover," he explained. "They already have a foothold in Northern Stilwater. If they somehow manage to press further north into the Ronin's holdings, then we'll have to split our forces to deal with them. And as you say, we're low on Saints right now. We don't have the man-power to beat them like that."

"If you don't want to go with either me or Gat, why not…" she looked at the map. "I mean fuck, why not go to Stilwater University? They're having some sort of Student Union thingee up there, when'd you say, Shaundi, this week?"

"Yep," the Lieutenant with the dreads replied. "The Samedi are trying to recruit from Veteran Child's old haunt."

"Yeah, do the University instead," the Boss nodded. "You go to Elysium Fields, you got no back-up. We have NOTHING over there. You'll be cut off and alone."

"You don't think I can handle it?" the cleaner inquired.

"Why you arguing about this?" she wondered aloud. "What's your problem today?" She started reaching her hand up towards his face, a questioning look in her eyes.

There was a sudden, solid knock on the door drawing the attention of all within the room.

Frustrated, the Boss cried out, "Who the fuck is it?"

"It's Dice!" a girl's voice hollered back. "I need… need to talk to you about something."

The senior members of the Saints looked back and forth at one another until the Boss finally called back.

"Come on in!"

The door opened and in came a short girl, barely reaching 5'2" in her tennis shoes. A look of determination was in her hazel eyes that quickly evaporated when faced with all of the high ranking members of the gang before her. She stopped about five feet inside the door, her mouth slightly agape.

"Well?" the Boss asked after a moment.

"Huh?" the short girl replied.

"What. Do. You. Want?" the woman said in exasperation.

"Uh, I'm here," the tiny Saint explained, "...to help. Er, I mean I want to help." She paused. "Um, that's okay, right?"

"Yeah," her boss said. "You can get me a beer. Actually fuck that. Go get me whatever's the most expensive red-colored crap we got downstairs."

"Uh, no."

"Excuse me?" The Boss's eyes widened in surprise. "Did you just say no?"

"I mean," the short girl was looking very uncomfortable. "I meant that's not why I'm here. I want to help you get the Samedi."

"Uh, sorry Boss," Pierce apologized. "She's part of my crew and doesn't know what she's sayin'." He stepped forward.

"What? Yeah, I do," she replied to Pierce. "I wanna get the Samedi."

"Why you bein' like that?" Pierce grumbled at the new arrival as he moved up to her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and began to turn her around. "This is not the time."

"No," Dyson called out suddenly. "Let her stay."

He looked over at the Boss with a smirk.

"This is her."

"Yeah this is Dice," the Boss confirmed. "I know who she is."

"Really?" the little Saint squeaked before she realized she'd spoken aloud.

"I mean she's the girl that was attacked upstairs," the cleaner continued. "She was fighting three guys at once and doing rather well." He glanced over at the short blonde. "I was most impressed."

"You were?" Dice muttered. "I mean, uh, thanks, um, sir."

"So," the Boss leaned in close, "You think you're ready for the big time shit, huh? You want to step up with us? Why should I let you?"

The tiny Saint paused a moment at the intensity in the eyes of her leader.

"Well?"

"Actually, I'm, uh, doin' it for someone else," the blonde girl stated. "Artemis, well, he's the leader of my crew and he was hurt, so now I'm kinda in charge at the moment." She took a deep breath. "He, um, was wounded trying to get me and Bert and Dominic out during the Push-back in Shivington. He should really be here, not me."

Pierce started to say something, but Dice cut him off.

"But he's not, cuz those Sons of Samedi bastards hurt him." She stood up straight. "And not just him, they hurt all my friends. They killed Barry and shot Bert and they tore up Blake pretty bad. And Corey; they killed Corey right in front of me." Anger started overcoming her features. "When we first got Shivington, when Chaz first joined we fought Taibot and his crew, but we let them all go. Then they're gonna turn around and keep fucking with us – keep killin' us? Fuck them; they need to pay and I want in on that!" The edges of her eyes started to glisten as she finished.

Silence hung heavy in the air for a moment. Finally the Boss spoke.

"I know what it's like havin' a friend shot right in front of you and being unable to do anything about it," she muttered as she rubbed a hand over her stomach near a long healed scar. Her eyes seemed unfocused for a moment. "Thought I was big and bad-ass then, goin' to the rescue, goin' to save her from the Rollerz." She cleared her throat. "Shit doesn't always work out like that, though. Died right next to me."

The Boss focused on the girl again.

"This shit's real," she explained. "We're going on the offensive now."

"'Bout damn time," Johnny mumbled under his breath. The Boss glanced over her shoulder with a '_Not now_' look.

"Shit'll be more dangerous than usual," she went on, looking forward once more. "I don't know if you're ready for that."

A look of disappointment crossed Dice's features. She stood still, not knowing what to say next.

"Give her Stilwater University," Dyson offered. "If it's just gonna be some low-level recruiters, it should be easy enough for her."

"Only if she has a full crew," the Boss retorted, then she leaned toward the little Saint. "You got a full crew?"

Dice blinked. "Uh, sure? I mean, yeah. Artemis is hurt, but I got someone fillin' in for him, so, uh, we're all good, uh, Boss."

"That'll leave Elysium Fields for me," the cleaner said.

"This again," the Boss groaned. "You know what? Fine, do it. Blow it all to shit, but I better still be getting' some money from the territory when you're done, you get me?" She turned to Tamara. "You watch over his crazy ass; I don't need to be losing anybody else right now."

The Wheel Woman nodded.

"Be careful, you two," the leader said with a nod. "Just get it done and do it right."

"You want it in the papers?" the hitman grinned. "You want it biblical?"

"Make it _apocalyptic_," she responded with a grin of her own.

"Yo, hold up!" Johnny interjected. "He gets to blow shit up, but I gotta be good? How the fuck is _that_ fair?"

"Hmm," Dyson said with a half-smirk on his face. "Apparently, you _aren't_ her favorite, after all."

* * *

><p>In just four days, Dice was going to die.<p>

The meeting was over, and Dice had managed to survive it. She walked in and talked to the Boss herself. She told her what she wanted, why she needed to be part of anything the Saints were going to do to the Samedi.

_I did it just like Mr Kind said_, she mused to herself. _I did it on my terms. I made the situation mine. I owned it. _

Then another thought surfaced.

_He supported me,_ she thought with a nod. _The most dangerous member of the Saints – well, next to the Boss, and, uh, probably Johnny Gat, too, and Stammer was kinda strong, but yeah_. She allowed herself a brief smile. _Mr Kind actually backed __**me**__._

"And the Boss," she muttered aloud. "She knows who I am. Knows my name." She looked up at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. "Maybe I'm not the schmuck I think I am."

She brushed her hair back a little, primping herself. Then she paused, being a bit more critical.

"She said I needed a crew and I told her I had one… but that wasn't true." She shook her head. "Artemis is down for the count. Blake's tore to shit. And Chaz, hmph, Artemis sent him home and I have no clue where the fuck he lives."

She sighed as she turned on the sink. She cupped her hands together, then splashed some water onto her face. As the droplets ran down her cheeks, she looked at her reflection once again.

_In four days be ready,_ the Boss had said. _We hit the Samedi on Friday._

"I got no one. No crew, no plan. Nothing."

She lied to the Boss and had absolutely no clue how she was going to deal with the Samedi recruiters at Stilwater University in just four days.

"I guess I am a schmuck after all."

When the Boss finds out she deceived her about having a crew ready for the mission, she would kill Dice, probably in some very horrible, painful way.

Yep, in just four days, Dice was going to die.

* * *

><p>Dyson was lost in thought as Tamara drove him back to his hideout in Little Shanghai.<p>

He had sent a text to Stenno, one of his best contacts, concerning the need for information regarding the Elysium Fields Trailer Park.

_Why you arguing about this? _the Boss had asked him. _What's your problem today?_

He hadn't meant to question her in front of her subordinates. He hadn't meant to disrespect her.

Truth be told, she made him nervous. Being around her was uncomfortable and he didn't seem to think clearly when he was near her.

He knew why – it was obvious. He still had feelings for her, still wanted to be with her, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. It'd probably never happen. He had truly lost her the day of the accident on the Alderman's yacht.

_What's this then? _he'd asked upon noticing her necklace_. Something new from On Thin Ice?_

_No… A present, from Carlos._

His teeth ground in hatred and, he was loathe to admit, jealousy. He'd almost pulled his gun and shot the young Hispanic Saint right there.

The line between Wexor and Mr Kind was becoming blurred again. Wexor wanted to tell her how much he loved her, how much they should be together again.

But the ever-vigilant Mr Kind would not allow that to happen. He'd been weak, vulnerable, open. Never again.

It was one of the reasons why he told the Boss to call him Dyson from now on. Her voice speaking his name, Wexor, was a siren's call that he could never resist. Too many memories from their time at the old church from their time cleaning up Stilwater the five years ago.

The constant war within himself was enough to drive even the most stable of individuals mad, and he was far from stable to begin with.

"We're here," Tamara announced as she hit the button for the garage-door opener. "So what's the plan for the trailer park."

Dyson glanced over at his driver.

"The plan for tonight is that you go see Trey," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Wha…?" she began, but he cut her off.

"Just go," he muttered. "I need time to think, to be alone for a while." He looked down. "I'm just tired right now."

Tamara searched his face for a moment before giving in.

"Whatever you say, boss."

She watched as he got out and walked to the warehouse entrance through the connecting garage. He punched the code on the keypad next to the door and went in. She watched as he entered, then she backed the car up, shifted gears and drove off down the street, making sure to hit the automatic garage-door button again before she got out of range.

**…**

**…**

Had Dyson not have been so lost in his own thoughts or Tamara not been so concerned for him, either of them may have noticed a black Justice parked across the street. They may have noticed the two individuals loitering unobtrusively near the vehicle. But, as it was, they didn't.

Neither noticed one of the pair, a short, bald man, dash across the intersection. Neither saw him launch himself forward just before the garage-door slammed shut. And neither was able to see him expertly tumble into a perfect roll, clearing both the garage-door and the security camera watching the warehouse's entrance.

"So, it's to be as simple as this, then," he muttered in a voice that hinted at his British heritage. The price on the head of the owner of this building was a quarter of a million dollars. Not a small sum at all.

He clicked on a small blue light. The clear contacts he had over his pale green eyes had been attuned to the light, allowing him to see perfectly in the darkness without alerting motion sensors that relied on normal light.

He looked around the garage and found his target: an oversized industrial ventilation shaft in the ceiling near the northwest corner of the garage. He pulled one item out of the small pack at his back and set it down then reached in for a second item – a specialized muffled mini-drill that quickly (and quietly) removed the screws holding the vent's cover on.

Once the cover was removed, he replaced the drill into his pack and picked up the item he had set down – a black, GDHC.50 with a flash-suppressant silencer.

As he hauled himself into the ventilation shaft, the man, named Isaac, shook his head. He had warned Wexor, years ago when they ran in the same circles, to improve the security at his building. Arrogantly, Wexor never listened – he was too busy trying to follow up with that trollop who lay in a coma at Stilwater Penitentiary. Now Isaac was glad his old companion never heeded his advice. It made his current job so much easier.

Although it really didn't matter, for Isaac was deadlier, more sadistic, and more skilled than the man known as Mr. Kind. And tonight, he would prove it.

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN: Whoa, who the hell's this guy? And what's going to happen to Mr. Kind?**

**Well, tune in next chapter where we WON'T tell you. That's right, Mr. Kind won't be around for a while… if at all. Hm, that's sucks…**

**Also, thanks to s**_**hadow182angel**_** for letting me snitch a few things from her story, _A Saint's Resurrection_.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	30. Ep 3: Retaliation, Part 12

**Sigh...**

** I really tried to get this under 5000 words, but even without the A/N is was over 5400. I just can't seem to write small chaps anymore...**

**Anyway, Rated M, blah blah, don't own Saint's Row blah blah, just my OCs...**

**Here's my latest junk... blah blah**

* * *

><p><strong>Episode 3: Retaliation<strong>

**Part 12**

* * *

><p>"What'll we do?!" the young Saint named Jessie called out to Dice. "The Samedi are everywhere!" A second later a wave of bullets slammed into his head and upper torso, cutting him down on the spot.<p>

"Oh Shit! Pull back!" Dice screamed out across the chaos.

The attack on Stilwater University had been a disaster. Instead of just a handful of low level recruiters, the Samedi had, quite literally, brought an army. Wave after wave of heavily-armed Samedi soldiers charged out across the campus. All of the innocent college students who had been in attendance had either fled or, if they were too slow, been slaughtered in the fury of the green-clothed gang's attempts to reach the small handful of Saints under Dice's command.

Of the six fresh recruits she had brought only two survived, a young Hispanic named Ryan and a dark-haired girl… Sally was it? She looked down at the boy who had just fallen, Jessie was his name, and her stomach clenched again. She'd led them to their doom.

"Pull back!" Dice ordered again as she tried to give the last two Saints cover with her NR4. Three of the enemy fell but were quickly replaced by four times their number. She didn't have enough ammo to kill them all.

She turned and started running, pushing Ryan forward.

"Go, go!" she screamed.

Ryan needed no further urging and ran down the grassy hill to the thoroughfare below.

Dice rummaged through her pocket as she ran and quickly located her cell. She hit 4 on speed-dial. Someone answered on the other line.

"Pierce!" she yelled through her phone as she looked behind her. "Everything's gone to shit! We need pick-up… NOW! Everybody's…" She paused as she caught sight of something. "Oh no…"

Sally was still behind them amongst the bodies. She was hunkered down next to Jessie's body, crying over it. Dice had forgotten – they were brother and sister.

"Sally!" Dice yelled as she started to head back. "Get out of there! Get away!" She tried waving to get the girl's attention, but the new recruit had lain across her brother's body and sobbed uncontrollably. "Oh, fuck me!"

Dice started hauling her way back up the hill. She got maybe twelve feet before the Samedi caught up. She paused and watched in horror as two of the enemy soldiers aimed at the newly canonized Saint tearfully mourning her brother's loss. Before Dice could utter a warning, the two Samedi fired off their Tombstones and ended the poor girl's life. They then turned their attention to Dice.

"No no no!" she cried out, then turned to head back down the hill. Looking forward, she tried to find Ryan. Where was he?

A small gasp escaped as she finally located the young Hispanic boy. He lay bloody and twisted across the hood of a Samedi Compton. The green-clad driver, who was even now exiting the vehicle, had run the boy down.

Dice stood stunned upon the side of the hill, not knowing what to do, which way to turn. The Samedi closed in on their unmoving prey. She probably would have joined her fallen comrades had not an appropriately timed squealing of tires caught her attention.

Rushing quickly to the area was a purple Mag with none other than Pierce Washington at the wheel. He was leaning out the window, firing his GDHC.50 as he did so. The Samedi that had killed Ryan moved quickly out of the way.

"C'mon, girl!" the Saints Lieutenant called to her as the vehicle came to a screeching halt. "Ya need to getcha ass moving!"

His voice snapped the short Saint out of her melancholy and she bolted forward. Gunfire erupted around her as she made her way quickly down the rest of the hill towards the waiting SUV. She wrenched the passenger door open and leapt inside; Pierce had the tires spinning before she could slam the door shut.

As they drove away, Dice fired off the last of her clip at her rapidly diminishing foes.

"Oh sh… oh shit," she stuttered while trying to catch her breath. "Th… that was a complete cl… clusterfuck."

"Tell me about it," Pierce groused at her. He shook his head. "How were you so... so unprepared for that shit?"

"Me?" Dice was incredulous. "I… they… Look, boss, there was no way I could've known-"

Pierce held up a hand to silence her. "I'm not the one you need to explain your fuck-up to…" He shook his head then muttered quietly, "I told ya ta leave the meeting, but no. Ya hadda stay. Fine, no one ever listens to me, well, I ain't takin' the fall for this one."

He continued driving north along the thoroughfare, finally getting into the Frat Row Neighborhood. Passing an internet café, he turned into an alley.

"Get out!" he demanded. Dice was so surprised at the harshness of his tone that she did as she was bid without question.

Once the short girl was clear, Pierce pulled the SUV back into traffic leaving her there. At first she thought she was alone, but an angry voice behind her told her otherwise.

"The fuck is your problem, you stupid little bitch?"

Dice spun on her heel and faced the source of the noise. It was the Boss. And she looked pissed.

"What? Didn't you understand me?" the taller woman called out as she sauntered closer. She got right up to the lesser Saint. "I asked you – what the fuck your problem is?"

She backhanded Dice - the blow was powerful enough that the younger girl fell backwards onto the ground. Baby, her pink crowbar, was dislodged from her belt-loop as she went down.

"I-"

"Don't even bother!" the Boss shouted. "You're like a slut who's always on her back – you constantly fuck up!"

"Please," Dice bawled. "I-I tried…"

"Know what? You're not gonna be called Dice anymore," the Leader of the Saints announced.

"What?"

"Every time you're with someone they either get torn apart or they die," the Boss continued on with a mirthless grin. "But not you. Never you. Oh you may get a scratch or two. A nick here or there, but you're never seriously hurt." The woman's eyes blazed with power. "I think I'll rename you… Jinx."

With that, the Leader of the Saints held a hand out as a look of concentration overcame her features. Dice suddenly felt an odd itch on her side near her lower left belly right above the hip. The itch grew in intensity then started to burn. Dice let out a gasp of pain as she reached towards the source of her distress.

"Everyone around you gets hurt or worse. Artemis, Bert, Blake, Corey…" The woman leaned forward. "Even your parents!"

Dice pulled up her shirt and looked at her familiar tattoo - the pair of dice from which she took her name. The die showing the single pip remained untouched, but the one showing 6 pips burned away only to be replaced by another single pip die. Snake-eyes.

"How…?" Dice managed as she sucked in a sharp breath through the burning pain.

"How?" The Boss laughed. "Bitch, I'm THE most powerful person in the city." The woman gestured again and the pink crowbar flew off the ground and straight into her hand. "You all owe your existence to me! If I wasn't here… hahah! The city itself wouldn't even exist!"

Dice cringed as the Boss came at her, the heavy crowbar raised above her head. Purple fire erupted around the metal weapon but didn't seem to hurt the woman at all, even though she grasped it bare-handed.

"I'm the Boss and its time I took out the trash!"

The small girl raised her hands defensively, but knew she wouldn't be able to stop the maddened creature that even now sought to kill her with her own weapon.

Laughing, the Boss smashed the blazing crowbar down at her.

* * *

><p><strong>Bavogian Plaza, Red Light District, Southern Stilwater<strong>

**Wednesday, May 11, 2011, 10:43am**

**Club Purgatory**

_**2 days until the Mission**_

**…**

**…**

With a sharp gasp, Dice awoke. She looked around seeking the familiar furnishings of her apartment and was unable to locate them. Initially unsure of where she was, she quickly came to realize she was in the lowest level of Club Purgatory on the edge of the impromptu infirmary.

She waited until the final wisps of her nightmare faded away. She shook her head glumly – the nightmares had returned with their usual frequency.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Dice sat up and away from the front of the bar where she'd fallen asleep. She stretched and then started gathering her things scattered about her: tennis shoes, fingerless leather gloves, her NR4, two clips of bullets… She paused as she got to Baby lying innocently on the floor next to her.

She blinked, then lightly brushed her fingertips along its surface. Smiling, she took comfort from the feel of the _cool_ metal. It was just a nightmare. As tough as the Boss was, even **she** couldn't do magic, right?

Her attention was drawn to a muted discussion between Dennis and Darcy taking place in the middle of the mattresses and cots that littered the one-time dance floor. Not wanting to disturb them, she made her way quietly over to one of the eight remaining wounded Saints. She settled down next to him and began putting her shoes on.

"Hey, baby," she whispered quietly to the prone figure; it was Mongrel and he seemed to be asleep. After slipping on her shoes, she leaned closer to him.

"I get ta go on a mission this Friday, yep." She smiled and brushed her fingertips through Blake's light blonde hair, delicately smoothing a stray lock of his that was out of place. "They put me in charge, too. Well, I kinda asked for that, but the Boss, the big Boss herself that is, agreed to it."

She sat back and quietly jacked the slide back on her empty pistol as she scrutinized it, making sure all was in order.

"Fuck I need ta clean this bitch," she murmured. "It'd kinda suck if, ya know, it all jammed on my ass later on." She nodded to herself and put the gun away. "I need a new SKR-9, though," she went on quietly. "Lost mine while on that crazy bus ride." She chuckled softly. "I was not about to search that broke-ass bitch of a clusterfuck for it."

She looked over as a new arrival joined up with Dennis and Darcy. She recognized him immediately – it was Pierce. As she watched the three carry on their subdued discussion, she pretzeled her legs and continued whispering to her silent companion.

"Boss says I need a crew of my own to go to Stilwater U and I said I had one. Problem is… I don't. I've asked like everybody, but there's no one to spare."

She paused for a moment watching Pierce and the others.

"Dennis there," she indicated the red-headed Saint with a nod of her head, "is taking over for Bert like I'm doing for Artemis. Dominic's with him. I asked Nugget, but the poor kid's shattered, ya know. Like really devastated that both Corey and Travis… I mean his whole crew got killed. I think he's gonna just do work around the cribs from now on. I actually feel sorry for him."

She looked down at Mongrel.

"You and Artemis, yeah, you're both hurt." She scrunched up her face. "Of course, if Artemis was ready ta go, I don't think I'd be in charge then. Anyway, Darcy's busy here." She glanced at the beautiful Saint as she said her name. "I mean shit, everything she's done for all you guys. She sure is tough; well, her and a couple of others but I don't know their names. Hell, I'd rather take on the entire Sons of Samedi gang myself instead of having to patch you guys up."

Dice sighed heavily then went on.

"Shaundi and her people are pulling extra guard duty. They're all out watching over our territories – Rory's crew, Valerie and her crew, even Velour and her girls are out."

She nodded to herself again.

"Chaz is still MIA and I even asked CD if he'd go, you know the guy that delivers the Boss's cars to her whenever she's out somewhere. He gets paid a lot for that. Shit, if I was a better driver I'd volunteer for that job." She smirked. "I always wondered if CD stood for 'Car Delivery dude' or if those were his initials."

"Both, I think," Mongrel muttered suddenly.

Dice's head snapped around, surprise on her face.

"You're awake?" she asked in her normal voice.

He nodded.

"Like all this time…?"

He nodded again and finally opened his eyes. The brilliant blue gaze fixed on her face.

"…while I'm just rambling and shit?"

"Yes, Dice," he whispered. "I was awake. I thought you knew."

Before she could respond, Darcy and Dennis came over.

"Hey, glad you're up, buddy," the latter said. "We're thinking of moving you guys out of here."

"What?" Dice asked, confused. "Why?"

"The club hasn't been cleaned since the wounded were brought in here," Darcy explained. "That's four days now. It's not the most sanitary place for them. Pierce talked with one of the people on the Boss's payroll – one of those doctors involved in the insurance frauds she runs. They're concerned about infections and people getting septic."

"Of course, we can't just send them to the hospitals," Dennis continued. "Most are gunshot wounds. Cops will be all over that." He looked Mongrel over. "Hell, you've been hit a couple of times yourself."

Dice glanced back at Mongrel. The injury caused by a Samedi's machete had been the most life-threatening and therefore the most cause for concern, but she sometimes forgot that he had been wounded by gun-fire as well. He had been so badly hurt.

"So what now?"

"The ones that can be sent home, will be," Dennis answered. "For those that can't, we'll have to find other accommodations." He looked down at the tall Saint. "You were staying with Bert, right? He's hurt as well. Hmm, we'll have to find somewhere else for you. You got any other place you can go to?"

Darcy considered for a moment. "William's not too bad – it's just his arm. I mean he's mobile. If you want you can stay with us-"

"No!" Dice shouted, surprising everyone including herself. "He, uh, I mean I got room," She turned to Mongrel. "I'd be glad to take care of you, er... let you stay at my place. I mean, like if you want to…" She trailed off for a moment then finally asked, "Would you wanna stay with me – 'til, uh, ya got better?"

Mongrel grinned. "That'd be just fine with me."

* * *

><p><strong>Prawn Court, Red Light District, Southern Stilwater<strong>

**Thursday, May 12, 2011, 9:16am**

**Dice's Apartment**

_**The day before the Mission…**_

**…**

**…**

Mongrel nodded as he clicked his cell phone shut. He'd made a couple of phone calls and was satisfied with the responses he'd gotten. As he sat pondering, his attention was drawn to the bathroom door as he heard Dice turn off the shower.

She'd apologized numerous times in the twenty or so hours since they got here yesterday afternoon. She'd apologized for the three flights they had to climb to get to her third floor apartment, for the fact that neither the Hideout nor her own apartment building had elevators yet, for the fact that the bed wasn't made. He smirked to himself. She was really trying.

He didn't care about the bed – he preferred staying on the couch. The back would support him while he slept. The couch could be a little longer though. He grinned – Dice had even apologized for that.

"What're you smilin' about?"

He looked up and saw her standing in the doorway of the bathroom. She had on one of her pink baby-doll tees (the one with the purple and black skull on it) and black panties. Her dark blonde hair was wet and slicked back and her normally pale skin had just a tinge of color to it – a subtle pink due to the heat of the shower she'd just taken. _God, she's beautiful_, he thought.

Before he could answer her, though, a car's horn honked outside.

"Fuck," Dice grimaced. "Spade's here already."

She dashed to her room and threw on a pair of grey cargo pants. Another honk sounded just as she reappeared in the living room – hopping as she tried to get a tennis shoe on.

"Hold up! I'm coming!" she exclaimed as if Spade could hear her three stories below.

She finally had both shoes on then ran to the coffee table to grab her wallet.

"We'll be back in a bit," she announced. "I gotta get some stuff. You okay? Need me to make you some tea or something before I go?"

"I got water here and the remote for the TV," he informed her. "I'm all good."

"I won't be gone too long," she said. She leaned in quick and gave him a peck on the forehead. "Take it easy until I get back, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied as she exited the apartment.

The sounds of her bounding down the stairs echoed in the hallway outside the apartment door. He scooped up the remote then leaned back onto the couch. His grin broadened at the thought of staying here with her. He could definitely get used to the experience.

* * *

><p>"Hello," the sales clerk greeted as Spade and Dice entered the <em>Branded<em> clothing store in Northern Stilwater. "We have many new styles that we'll be glad to push on… uh, help you try out. Let us know if you need any assistance."

"Thanks," Spade said as she waved off the woman then turned to Dice. "I can NOT believe that that 'coupon' your Boss gave you would work at Friendly Fire."

"I know, right?" Dice agreed. "Thirty percent off! I saved six hundred bucks buying my new Threat today. She's done jobs for people, made some connections." She paused for a second. "Uh, what time is it?"

Spade sighed as she checked her cell _again_.

"If you'd bring your phone you could look for yourself. It's uh, about ten after one." She shook her head. "It's been only four hours. He's a big boy and can take care of himself."

"I know, I know," the tiny Saint replied. "I'm just…" She shrugged.

"…worse than a mother hen," her friend finished. "C'mon, let's do some shopping. It's the _BEST_ way to get your mind off of… hm, just about anything! Well, that and sex." She moved to some racks on the left side of the store. "What're you wanting again?"

"Uh, not to look the part of a gang-banger. Not to look like such a-"

"Thug?" Spade interjected with a nod at her attire.

Dice scowled for a second then…

"Yeah, I guess that's right. Not so _thug-ish_. Gotta dress like a girl. I wanta be incog… what's the word? Incognito?"

"Well, lucky for you," Spade said with wink, "you're with me. Ya wanna dress like a girl in such a way to distract the Samedi boys that'll be recruiting at Stilwater U? Yeah, I'm the one to help you with that."

She chose a few things as Dice looked at some shoes.

"Can you walk in pumps or stilettos, yet?"

Dice gave her a look. "Pssh, only if you have an ambulance on speed-dial. I'll kill all of us if I tried walking more than two steps in those."

"Need ta learn, baby-girl," Spade admonished with a shake of her head. "But I am glad you're gonna let me go with you."

Dice nodded in response. She'd told Spade about the problems she'd had recruiting people for her crew. Spade offered her services; she wasn't a Saint, but she was often an ally and she could be counted on. Besides, Spade could be very lethal in a fight – someone good to have at your back. Dice felt a lot better knowing she'd have at least one person with her – that she wouldn't be utterly alone at the campus.

"Alright, bring a pair of those shiny black flats there and let's see what we got," her friend said.

With a nod Dice followed her to the dressing room.

**…**

**…**

Spade had picked a short sleeve white buttoned-down blouse, a rather short (too short if you asked Dice) grey skirt, white sock-like stockings that came up to her mid-thigh, and a grey-and-blue argyle sleeveless vest.

As Spade knelt to snap the black shoes on her feet, Dice looked down at her ensemble.

"This shit looks like one of those pervy Halloween school-girl outfits."

"That's the point, dear," her friend muttered as she stood up. "Guys like that shit. Now sweep your hair back. God, do you ever do anything with this?'

"I wash it all the time," Dice defended.

"You need to brush it more. Okay now…" Spade got out some make-up and began applying it. "Little blue eye-shadow. A little liner…"

"I don't like that crap-" Dice started.

"Silence!" the taller girl scolded her in a German accent as she dusted her cheeks with blush. "_You vill be vearing zee make-up!"_

Dice sighed heavily a few times as she waited (rather impatiently) for Spade to finish.

"This is just a trial run, okay?" Spade applied red gloss to her lips. "I'm not gonna set it with powder, so you can wash it off right away if you want to."

"Ugh, that'll be the first thing I do," Dice mumbled as Spade finished. She didn't mind lipstick, but it had been _years_ since she used anything else. All of this other crap seemed so utterly unnecessary. She turned and finally looked in the full-sized mirror at what Spade had done to her and the result was…

"Oh… oh my god…" Her words almost caught in her throat as she took a long pause.

"What's wrong?" A look of concern crossed her friend's face. "What is it?"

For a moment time froze. Blurred would have been a more accurate term.

She'd half-expected Spade to gob on make-up and make her appear as one of those strippers that always hung out at the Hide-out before its conversion into a temporary infirmary. Instead, Spade had applied it in a complimentary fashion, accentuating her features without overpowering them. She didn't appear as the tom-boy she always seemed to be.

She looked like she was before the accident with her parents, like she did in 2006. When she was still _just a girl,_ with no aspirations to join a street gang, to just be normal, to just live a regular life. The transformation was remarkable. She wasn't a street thug. She was actually kind of…

"Pretty."

"What?" her friend asked again. "You okay?"

"I'm actually pretty," was all she could reply for a moment. Dice never truly thought of herself as ugly, after all she was a tad arrogant. But she never thought to look like this again. She reached out a tentative had to the mirror, her fingertips lightly brushing against it. It was real, _this_ was real. For a brief moment she was Margaret again.

Thoughts she had believed long buried rose to the surface. What if none of it happened? What if she'd never asked for that damn hotdog at Nob Hill? What if she never lost everything?

"Hey, Dice," her friend's voice intruded on her thoughts.

_Dice._ Dice would never have been born. She would never have met Spade and joined the _Casino Queens_. She'd never have met her other friends – Kat or Lucia. She'd never have met her best friend, Blake. Had Dice never been born she'd never have been a Saint. And, oddly enough, as much as Margaret lost, Dice had gained more. Dice loved being a Saint, she loved her friends, and most importantly, she loved Bla..

Spade stepped in front of her, bringing her back to the present.

"What the fuck, Dice?"

"Huh?" Dice took a step back. "Sorry, just took me by surprise." A smirk came quickly to her lips. "I can actually pull off the _good girl_ look, apparently. I don't look like complete crap when I'm dolled up."

"I always said you were cute, kiddo," Spade said as her eyes searched her friend's face. "Ya just kinda faded on me for a second."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that." She hung her head down – the chaos of the past few days was catching up to her. She probably would never have been affected so much by the change in her appearance had everything not gotten so fucked up recently. "I don't know; the reality of what I'm doin' and shit – the mission tomorrow. Then completely changin' my look. Jus… Just a lot all at once, ya know?" She looked back up at Spade.

"Alright then, let's buy this stuff and get going. We still gotta get some plan going for what the two of us are going to do when we get to Stilwater U."

"Okay," Dice agreed as she started changing back to her street clothes. She'd left Blake alone long enough and was eager to get back, to make sure he was okay. "Let's get this shit done with."

* * *

><p>The two of them had gotten to the door of her apartment when they heard faint murmurings coming from within.<p>

At first, Dice just thought that the television was on, but when she actually heard someone on the other side of the door say Mongrel's name her brow furrowed. _Who the fuck is at my apartment bothering him?_

With a scowl she unlocked the door and entered – only to receive her second big shock of the day.

"'Bout time you got back, Lil Sister!" Artemis chided as she came through the door.

She looked around with her jaw slightly agape. He wasn't the only one present.

Besides Artemis and Mongrel, her apartment was also accommodating Darcy, Chaz, and Lucia.

"Dafuq?" she said as eloquently as possible.

"Your boy here made some calls this morning," Artemis quickly explained, indicating Mongrel. "Seems like you were running a bit crewless there, so he reached out to us."

"You… you all want to be in the crew?" She was too stunned to comprehend it.

"Actually, I can't," Artemis held up his injured arm with a laugh. "Still recovering and I'd probably just be in the way."

"And I'm no good with a gun, really," Darcy admitted. "More the 'stay at home' type of Saint. Or 'stay at crib'." She smiled. "We just picked up Chaz here."

"Sorry, Dice, sorry," the young Cuban boy apologized. "Just needta, y'know, wrap my head around the craziness of it all. I'm not really sure of anything at the moment. Not even sure if I still wanta be a Saint, but I couldn't let you down now when you need me. I-I'll be glad to accompany you. If you'll have me that is."

Dice stepped forward and gave him a solid hug.

"I'll take you anytime!" she grinned. "You strapped? Gotta a gun?"

Chaz nodded. "Yeah, Artemis hooked me up."

"Pssh," interrupted Lucia, "ya don't need these posers, hahah! I'm here ta help ya take care-a bidness!" The young Mexican girl leaned in and wrapped her arms around Dice's neck. "Lucia Esposito reportin' fer duty!" She let go and gave a mock salute.

Dice felt as if her smile was going to split her face in half.

"I do have a map of the area," Artemis offered. "I can give you some pointers if you think it'll help."

"Boss, I'll take all the help I can get."

"None of that, now," Artemis shook his head but he still grinned. "No 'boss' stuff to me. You're the boss now. All I can do is advise you."

Dice nodded happily.

"Then let's adjourn to the kitchen table," Artemis continued. "I got the map set up there."

"I'll be there in a moment," Dice replied as the others headed for the kitchen. She turned to Mongrel still reclining on the couch. She sat down next to him and looked him in the eyes.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"I can't…" the tall Saint looked down, shame on his face. "I'm not better yet. I can't be there for you tomorrow. It… this was all I could think of. I'm sorry."

She reached out and turned his face back up towards hers.

"It's more than enough. Thank you. Thank you so very much."

"Just come back alright." He nodded. "I need you to just come back alright."

"I will," she promised. "And when I do we're gonna have a talk. A long overdue talk. You understand me?"

He merely stared at her, deep concern, maybe even a hint of fear for her well-being, shown on his face.

"This time nothing's stopping me. Not the mission, not the fuck-head Samedi, nothing. I realized just how much I need all this shit. How much I need the Saints. How much I need-"

She leaned in close, pulling him forward and placed her lips on his. She meant it to be a quick peck like earlier, but now…

Utter adoration blurred with desire as she pressed more firmly against him. She was direct, invasive. Her tongue pushed through. She wanted to touch him, to taste him, to consume him.

After all the stress, all the doubt of the past few days. After all the pent-up frustration she'd experienced, luck was finally going her way. She was tired of having to be at the whim of forces outside her control. She wanted to be in charge of her fate, if only for a moment. She wanted to be the aggressor, to be the conqueror.

She straddled his hips, pushing forward, deepening the kiss, taking control. He allowed her access, giving himself over to her. Her heartbeat was racing. She was in charge now. _She_ was the boss. And she'd take him like she wanted to…

…but not yet.

The others were waiting for her. They'd come here to help her and as much as she yearned for this moment to linger on, for her passion to continue, she had responsibilities to think of. She had friends to think of.

Slowly, regretfully, she pulled away from him. Her heart was still pounding, her breathing still intense. She captured his gaze with her own – his own desire was as evident as hers.

"Oh yeah, Blake Randall Thomas," she moaned quietly as she leaned her forehead against his. "I am gonna talk _the shit_ outta you when I get back."

She eased back and slowly got off of him, careful not to push against any of his injuries.

"And by talk, I sure in the hell _don't_ mean talk."

She thought about the mission tomorrow. She was going to beat those Samedi recruiters. Beat them like a Boss.

She grinned at that thought as she stood.

Tomorrow, she was going to own them. She was going to take the Stilwater University Neighborhood. She was going to win.

And she'd do it all, _like a Boss_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: A special 'thank you' to fellow FF author _High Mage Lady Hawkmoon_ for letting me steal her character 'CD', who only exists in a story she HASN'T posted yet. S'up with that _Hawkmoon_?**


	31. Ep 3: Retaliation, Part 13

**Sorry about the LONG overdue update, but first, a few things...**

**This is my first attempt at writing First Person POV; it was a pain so this'll probably be my last for the foreseeable future.**

**Just to be clear: Only the mission part of this chap is Dice's POV; the latter after-mission part reverts to third person again.**

**I was really in doubt with the first person thing, but thanks to advice and encouragement from one of my favorite writers, _shadow182angel_ (who has it down to an art-form) and words of support from my friends _DoubleH19/Red's Revenge_ and _High Mage Lady Hawkmoon_, I slugged it out.**

**And finally, thanks to Jessie J's _'Do it like a Dude'_ which I listened to while writing this thing (the video (explicit version) is HAWT, too, btw - and a good source if you need to come up with descriptions of girl gangbangers).**

**So if I did okay let me know... or if I sucked let me know what I did wrong...**

**Anyway, don't own Saint's Row yadda yadda... Here's my latest junk based off of the Samedi Stronghold at Stilwater U.**

* * *

><p><strong>Episode 3: Retaliation<strong>

**Part 13**

* * *

><p><strong>Shivington Neighborhood, Projects District, Southern Stilwater<strong>

**Friday, May 13, 2011, 10:51am**

_**heading to Stilwater University**_

_**Dice's Point of View**_

* * *

><p>As I sat in the passenger seat of Spade's speeding Hammerhead a lot of things were going through my mind.<p>

I had that feeling of tension – hm, how do I explain? Uh, okay, when I was a little girl playin' out in my parents' backyard, back when they were alive that is, there'd be these warm days late in spring. They'd be all muckedy feelin' and then these big, mountainy grey clouds would come rollin' in. They'd be huge and awesome to look at, but you could 'feel' them in the air as they got closer. Sorta chargin' it, building up this pressure, ya know?

Then there'd be this quick, cool breeze zippin' in all of a sudden - the kind that gives you that little chill down your back. The air'd all be metallic smellin' and then it'd happen: CRACK – a flash of lightning and then BOOM, a pop of thunder.

Yep, that's how it went: _CRACK-BOOM!_

And that kinda tension was somethin' I felt as the four of us headed to Stilwater University. But that wasn't the only thing I felt. Nervous? Yeah. Scared? Maybe a little. But at the moment I felt a little lucky.

Some of the Saints had religious beliefs, some put faith in that predestination stuff, and some, like my Blake, sadly believed in nothin' at all 'cept doin' the right thing. Me? I believe in karma, luck, whatever you call it.

Seems kinda stupid to think, right? But, as I looked around at my friends in the car I knew I was lucky.

In the backseat directly behind me sat Chaz, the youngest member of my crew. He'd shaved his goatee off and had started regrowing his hair. The _gangsta_ look was gone - he looked like just a normal kid again.

I remember back when he'd first been canonized about six weeks ago; he'd been so eager to join, so eager to help. He'd gone through a lot since that day which now seemed so long ago. We'd taken him and thrown him into the mess. He'd survived more than his fair share: the capture of Shivington, the attack on Pilsen, and the retaliation of the Samedi when they hit our Main Hideout. He was loyal and always helped out as much as he could.

It was also because of him – in a weird sort of way – that I was still alive.

I'd found out, well later on of course, that on the night I'd been attacked by Papa Pants in the back alleys of the Red Light District, Chaz had shown Artemis some new shortcut under a freeway or something. They were taking that shortcut when they noticed the gunfire between me and the asshole pimp's thugs. If it hadn't been for Chaz showin' that shortcut to Artemis, yeah, I might not be here.

He'd also been the one to shout the warning when Blake was almost shot at Pilsen, and to find Artemis when Blake had been cut down at the mission above Club Purgatory. I guess in a way he saved my Blake twice. Bad shit just didn't seem to go as wrong as it could when he was there, y'know?

I nodded to myself – it was good luck having him around.

Sitting next to him in the back seat was Little Lucia. Pssh, I still call her 'Little Lucia' despite the fact that she was aggravatingly taller than me, but only by an inch-and-a-half just so you know!

Anyway, Lucia was the daughter of a Spanish-American mother and a Mexican father. She was a pretty little thing – with this nice cinnamon-colored skin and that silky black hair that was always in a different yet fashionable style. Her deep brown, doe-like eyes and that cute accent of hers helped her snag a shit-ton of guys.

We'd met at one of those stupid city-sanctioned group therapy session thingies I was forced to take after I'd been arrested a couple of times. Lucia had been picked up for robbery, probably to get back at her abusive father. Personally, I also think her mass attraction to anything male was also because of her father's beatings, but what the fuck do I know? We'd become friends at the meetings which we both thought sucked royally. It was my idea to bring her to meet Kat and Spade – to bring her into the first gang I was a member of.

"Ha-ha! The Casino Queens ride again!" Lucia squealed suddenly as if she read my thoughts. "Samedi bitches ain't gonna know _what_ hit'em!"

"Casino Queens?" Chaz asked as he looked over at her. "What like Spade's gang?"

"Ha-ha, yeah, pretty little boy!" she laughed. "All us girls here; yeah, we all Queens!"

Chaz turned forward to look at me. "Even you?"

"At one time, yep," I answered with a nod. "I thought you knew that."

"Well, I sorta figured it the day I first met Stammer at the Hideout," he admitted. "But I wasn't a hundred percent certain."

"Guess which one I am!" Lucia blurted out all of a sudden.

"Huh?" he turned to look at her again.

"Guess which Queen!" She turned in her seat to face him. "There were four of us and each picked a different queen, y'know like the suits?"

"Uh, I don't know."

"Ugh," she groaned and shook her head, "you ain't even tryin'."

"Well, uh," he squirmed a little under her gaze. "I mean you're all so, uh, fantastic. How could, um, I just choose one theme or suit as it were for you?" He nodded. "I mean picking just one to attribute to you would be, uh, so limiting of such a great girl."

The fuck? I looked at Chaz – little guy was tryin' to have game and be a playa with that bullshit. Hopefully, Lucia wouldn't fall for that sh…

"Oh my god, you are too cute!" she yelled and then gave him a big hug.

Ugh, seriously, Lucia?

She leaned back and had that _look_ in her eyes. Uh oh…

"Hm, you got a girlfriend, _mi __niño __bonito_?" She bit her lower lip as she fluttered her eyelashes at him.

"Uh," he squirmed worse than before. Chaz always did seem nervous around girls now that I thought about it. "No I don't, uh, _chica muy hermosa_."

Lucia gasped. "_Usted habla español_?"

"Uh, sí, just a little… learned some of it from my mother."

"_Oh, esto es totalmente increíble!_" She grasped his hand in hers. "_Podemos hablar y conversar en español! Usted sabe que no muchos de los demás hablan español. Echo de menos hablar en español y ahora que somos amigos que pueden hablar como todo el tiempo…__"_ God, now she was rambling. I almost felt sorry for Chaz.

"Uh, I don't speak it that well to know everything you just said."

"Oh that's okay," she replied as she scooted closer to him. Her eyes were locked on the poor kid. "I can teach you all sorts of things if you want me to."

"Lucia!" Spade called out as she continued to drive, "I swear to shit I will pull this car over and hose you down if I have to!"

"Yeah," I piped in, getting a bit aggravated with her nonsense myself. She was always such a horn-dog. "I thought you were with Jeremy anyways?"

"Pfft!" she turned to look at me and scowled. "You see a ring on this finger?" She held up her hand. "Don't think so! Yeah it's been a month-and-a-half!" Her scowl got worse. "And he's giving up on his guitar! I mean, the hell's up with that, huh? How am I supposed to love him _sin música_? You tell me that one!"

I shook my head. Yeah to date Lucia you had to play an instrument or some shit.

"You got long fingers though," Lucia went on as she looked at Chaz's hands. "You play piano perhaps?"

"Um, no," he pulled his hand out of her grasp. "Uh, Hearts?"

"Huh?" she replied.

"Queen of Hearts, maybe. Is that who you are?" Nice change of subject there, Chaz.

Lucia's face lit up. "Oh my god! Yes! How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess," he mumbled.

She laughed. "Ha-ha, a good guess, _mi __niño __bonito! _Yes, I am the lover of the group, ha-ha!" She turned so her back was to him. "I got a tattoo of a heart on my back." She started lifting her shirt up. "It's under my bra, you want to see it?"

Chaz started sweating. "Um…"

"Lucia!" Spade called out again.

She sighed as she lowered her shirt. "Fine." She sulked for a moment then her face lit up again. "Hey, guess which the others are!" She indicated Spade and me with her head.

Chaz, thankful to turn his attention somewhere else, looked at us. He started with Spade.

"Well, obviously with her name, she's the Queen of Spades."

I looked over at her as she nodded.

On a pack of playing cards it was usually the symbol of the Spade that was displayed. It was also the Ace of Spades that had that logo-thing of whatever company made the cards. The Spade always seemed the most prominent suit, the most important. And I gotta admit, I also thought that way about my friend.

I mean fuck, Spade was this tall, beautiful, powerful woman. She had gorgeous, dark, wavy hair. The flecks of green in her brown eyes looked mysterious. And my God was she built with just the right amount of curves. I'd of killed for her shoulders and hips. For those tits and that damn perfect ass of hers. And of course for her 5'8" height…

But it didn't end there. She could drive and she could shoot. She could out-fight just about any of us regular Saints except for maybe Blake and Stammer. She was always so strong and confident. She could easily deal with this situation we were heading into. I really idolized her; don't know if she ever knew it. I always wanted to be like her, hell, I wanted to _be_ her.

"And Dice must be..." Chaz's voice pulled me back. "Uh, well you use that crowbar all the time. Swinging it around at everybody." He made a clubbing-like motion.

"You'd be wrong," I said, starting to get bored of the game. Or maybe I was getting even more nervous. Spade just exited Sunsinger and we started heading along the main drag in between the northern part of Sommerset and the south edge of Mount Claflin.

"Yeah, _mi hermana reina_ is the Queen of Diamonds, cuz she's tough as diamonds, eh?" She nodded at me with a smile. "She may get her butt whomped sometimes, but I never see her say 'uncle'. She never gives up, ha-ha!"

I'd been okay up 'til now, but seein' a street sign showing that Stilwater U was just up ahead… I could feel my heart beating harder. My earlier 'lucky' feeling was knocked aside and my stomach was bunching in knots. This was it. I seemed to have a little trouble breathing. Queen of Diamonds my ass. God, I wished Artemis was here to lead us. Or Blake… I so wanted to look at him again. To touch him one more time.

"Hey," Spade called over suddenly. I looked up. "You okay?"

I nodded but she knew it was a lie.

"How 'bout some Jessie J?" she asked.

I grinned despite my fears. "_Do it Like a Dude_?"

"You know it, bitch," she answered with a wink and her familiar half-grin.

I nodded and Spade put the CD in. Soon the hip-hop beats were poundin' out of the speakers. I did so love this song. It was empowering, as Spade would say. Except for the Boss, it was always challenging for us girls to be taken seriously in the gang; I mean for fuck's sake even Shaundi was sometimes considered a joke who only seemed valuable for information she could get off some guy she screwed.

As I let the words and rock riffs flow over me, I started to relax. By the time we were pullin' up to the neatly trimmed lawns and long cobblestone paths in front of the college I was in a much better mood.

"You ready to do this shit?" Spade asked as she readied the bags that held our weapons.

"Yeah, I think I am."

"We gonna do it like a dude?" she smiled.

I chuckled. "Fuck it. Like a dude, like a Boss, doesn't matter. Let's just do this shit and go home."

* * *

><p>The four of us gathered close to hear Shaundi's voice over my phone (which I actually remembered to bring this time - go me!) set on speaker.<p>

"_Every year Stilwater U has a cultural day in the student union where all these different clubs will do stuff like set up booths, pass out pamphlets, give away couscous, whatever."_

Spade looked over at me and mouthed _'Couscous?'_

I just shrugged as Shaundi continued.

"_Anyway, the Sons of Samedi are gonna be there today to do recruiting. If you hurry up you can take all those assholes out."_

It was a kinda simple plan, really. I like simple. I could do simple. The four of us had dressed up as students, and decided to mix with the crowd that was hangin' out at the quad just outside the main university building. While Chaz wore a simple black t-shirt and blue jeans, Spade had decided that since the majority of the recruiters were most likely going to be guys then me, her, and Lucia should dress in, um, interesting and eye-candy-ish clothes.

Ugh.

The grey skirt I wore was too damn short, thank you very much. I hated it. It was drafty as hell and I was constantly yanking at the bottom of it.

"Quit tugging," Spade whispered firmly at me.

I scowled but stopped trying to stretch the fabric.

Spade had on a pair of faded pink low-rise jeans that showed off her belly. Her white crop-top helped a lot as did the black stiletto boots she sauntered around in. You'd never see me in those. However, the outfit worked; more than a few eyes were focused on her.

Compared to the two of us, Lucia was almost mild – a black button-down shirt with jean shorts and her black hair pulled up in a couple of high pigtails.

Each of us had a duffel bag or backpack where we had hid handguns and a couple'a melee weapons. Mine held an NR4, Baby (gimme a break - like I wasn't gonna bring her) and my brand-spankin' new SKR-9 Threat!

We approached a large round water fountain that had an obnoxiously huge statue on top of it. Behind it were two rows of tables set up, one on either side of the walkway leading to the quad. And there next to one of the tables on the far back was our first target – a Samedi recruiter! He was a young white guy with red hair poking out from under his green skully. We glanced at each other and then nodded.

"Remember, we search the quad first," I reminded everyone, especially myself. "Don't spook'em until we know how many there are."

"Melee weapons first, right?" Chaz asked.

I nodded. "Yeah, Artemis suggested it and I agree. We don't need bullets flyin' everywhere." I looked around. "Too many non-Samedi for that."

We slowly strolled along the tables, passing by the people there. There was booths for _Intramural Sports_, one for the _Chess Club,_ one for _Capitalism for Beginners_ and even one for _Save the Trees_. I found the last kinda funny since on the table there was a large stack of paper pamphlets with the words 'Save the Trees' written on them. Wonder how many trees were killed to make all those pamphlets?

"Hey," Chaz spoke up. I turned and saw him lookin' at a table for the _Anime Club_.

Ugh, really? I didn't need him getting distracted by this shit. I angrily stomped over to him when out of the corner of my eye I spotted a collector's edition of _InuYasha: The Final Act_.

Hello! I didn't even know they ended the series yet.

Yeah, having a cute little demon-boy you could command to 'sit' was awesome, but really I liked his half-brother, Sesshomaru – yummy!

Wait, wait… what was I saying? Oh yeah, I grabbed Chaz and told him to focus (and mentally reminded myself to pick up the collector's edition later).

Anyway, we moved to the table where the Samedi recruiter was – just a general booth that said 'Quad Day'. Spade tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a set of stairs that led down to the quad itself. There were another two Samedi going down. I smirked and made my way to the top of the stairs.

They were heading to a table set up below with a black sign hanging from the front of it. Printed on the sign in white letters was 'Deaths Door'. There were another two Samedi as well standing over a big leather-covered book, what do you call'em? Tomes or something like that? It had that five-pointed star pentagram-thingie on it. Hm, looked like we found their booth.

I nodded to Spade still standing by the Quad Day table and flashed four fingers, then jerked my head to indicate the Samedi table below.

She smiled back and then started a conversation with the redhead. She giggled and leaned closer to him as she started twirlin' a curl in her hair. The redhead grinned back and muttered something to her, pointing to the top of the stairs where I was standing.

She tilted her head and murmured something quietly back as she played with the end of her curl all the while never breaking eye-contact. He finally nodded and offered his arm to her. God, sometimes boys weren't even a challenge, but in his defense, it _was_ Spade he was dealing with.

Chaz and Lucia had already gone down and were now standing by the enemy gangmembers.

I started down, shifting my duffel in my hand and reached for the zipper. Yeah buddy, time for Baby to kiss come schmuck in the head.

As I slowly moved to the table I heard Spade buttering the guy up.

"So you're totally in charge of this recruiting thing?" she was asking him. "I guess you're just the big man then aren't you?"

I couldn't quite make out what he said.

"Oh, the Student Union then? That's awesome. Ten, huh?" Spade was still talking as I glanced up at Lucia and Chaz.

"Get ready," I mumbled and slowly slid Baby out for a breath of fresh air. Artemis had advised us to get the Samedi together and hit'em at once. _Surprise beats numbers and can save the lives of your fellow Saints and innocent people_. Yeah, I liked that advice.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to go and meet them," Spade was really close now.

The tension was near breakin' and I could almost hear the lightning and thunder.

_CRACK-BOOM!_

"Do it, Saints!" I yelled as I dropped my bag. I swung hard and caught the first Samedi in the jaw with Baby. He dropped like a sack a' potatoes. I heard Chaz and Lucia yelling as I clambered onto the table toward my next target. I leapt off just as I heard Spade call out.

"Dice, no! Not yet! Oh shit!"

Baby connected with my second Samedi square in the forehead. I actually heard that asshole's skull crack from the impact. That was two, so the advantage should now belong to us.

I turned quickly and saw students running away. Chaz and Lucia double-teamed a third Samedi as Spade was dropping the redhead. The fifth Samedi was reaching behind him for a weapon.

"Nope!" I screamed and swung low catching the creep in the knee. He fell over and I raised Baby up high then brought her down hard.

_**-SMACK-**_

He wouldn't be recruiting ever again.

"Well, that went better than I thought," I said as Spade came up to me.

"What about the others?" she asked with a stern look on her face.

I turned to see Lucia whackin' the shit out of her Samedi with a baseball bat as the dude was curled up in a ball. "The ground is where you belong!" she screamed.

"They got theirs under control," I told her. "Looks like we won."

Spade took a deep sigh. "No, the other Samedi in the Student Union I mean."

I was confused. "What are you talkin' about?"

She indicated the redhead lying on the ground. "He said there were nine other Samedi in the main building, being led by someone named Mance."

"What the fuck? Mance?" I felt my stomach clench. Oh shit. I hadn't checked the whole campus. I thought the recruiters would just be all together. I epically fucked up. Well, maybe the other Samedi didn't know yet. Maybe we could still surprise them…

"Look out!" Spade yelled as she pushed me against the wall behind the table. A shot rang out from above us as a bullet hit the Samedi's booth.

I glanced up to see a scruffy-looking Samedi guy leaning over a rail with a pistol aimed down at us. Spade and I were right in the open with nowhere to go.

Several shots rang out from my left and bits of concrete and stone were blasted up into the Samedi's face. He pitched forward with a scream and fell dead at our feet. Stunned, I looked over and saw Chaz – his Vice9 in his hand.

"The killing…" he said with a look of sadness. "It-it's just never gonna stop, is it?"

He'd saved me again, and all he wanted in return was some words of comfort, some words of wisdom that I didn't have. I didn't know what to say. Would this shit ever really end?

"C'mon!" Spade called out, bringing me back. "Before they can rally their soldiers. We need to hit'em hard and fast!"

I'd used Artemis' 'Be subtle approach' and it'd worked pretty well. But now with nearly a dozen more Samedi around here I switched up tactics. Mr. Kind's advice popped in my head.

_Make the situation your own,_ he'd said with that hot purring thing he did with his voice._ Own it. And when you do… destroy your enemies utterly._

"Yeah, alright!" I responded, Chaz's pleading forgotten in the chaos. "Lucia, with me." I pointed to Spade and Chaz. "You guys up the other way. We can NOT let these douches get organized! Let's go!"

Visions of my dream were starting to pop into my head – the one where I was outnumbered by the Samedi and I had nothing but raw recruits who were all cut down. I couldn't let that happen in real life, not to my friends. I'd destroy these fuckers utterly.

I led the charge up the right stone staircase to the Student Union building, my NR4 in my left hand and my Threat in my right. There was only a single entrance on this side; maybe we could take the door before the Samedi came out…

Of course it was at that time the first Samedi soldier emerged.

"Fuck!" I yelled as I tried switchin' off the safety of my Threat. Dude was gonna get a round off before I could aim-

_**BLAM!**_

The Samedi's head jerked back as Spade's bullet hit him, splatterin' his brains across the door. She was a great shot with her .44Shepherd, not as awesome as Artemis, but still.

The next Samedi soldier stumbled over his friend's body and I let loose with my Threat. He was shredded up.

Spade, having come up the left set of stairs, got to the doorway first and dove in. I quickly followed, with Lucia and Chaz bringing up the rear. People were running and screaming inside the atrium all in a mad scramble to get out of our way as green-clothed gangbangers were firing at us from everywhere. The second floor had a walkway that ran along the outer wall of the open area. The railing was a glass wall about three feet high.

"Get some cover!" I screamed as I kneeled behind a long planter made of stone. People were freakin' out everywhere, trying to take cover in the shops off to the left or trying to flee past us out the door. Lucia crowded next to me and was mutterin' something. She seemed a bit worried, and _then_ it happened.

_**ZIP!**_

A bullet flew real close to Lucia. I saw her hair poof for a second and a wave of coldness sank inside me. I-I thought she was shot in the head.

"_¿Qué demonios ha pasado?_" she muttered or some shit like that. She went all Spanish any time she was really upset, but unfortunately I don't speak it.

She grabbed a lock of her hair that was smoking from the close call and then glanced over into a far corner where two Samedi were crouched by some arcade games.

"_Mi cabello?"_ she mumbled.

"You okay?" I asked with concern. "Are you hit?"

"_Vete a la mierda mierda hijos de puta acaba de tomar el pelo? ¿En serio? Te voy a matar por eso!__" _She stood and whipped up a K6 Krukov light assault rifle (where the hell'd she get THAT from?). She marched forward slowly, unloading the entire clip into the corner.

Worried, I began to reach for her, but I should have been more concerned for the two unfortunate Samedi that received all thirty rounds of her anger. Apparently, you just shouldn't fuck with some girls' hair.

Smiling smugly at the demise of the two Samedi, she was reloading when another shot rang out – and caught her in the upper left thigh.

"AAAAHHH!" she screamed and went down.

"Lucia!" I called out and reached toward the falling girl. She slumped heavily into my arms and I quickly pulled her back behind cover.

"There!" Chaz called out and pointed up to the second floor. "Look! It's him!"

I followed where he pointed and saw the man who shot Lucia. The six foot tall Samedi had unwashed brown hair and glassy brown eyes. I sneered. Even without being close enough to see his nasty pock-marks and rotten-ass teeth, I knew the fucker – it was Mance.

"Chaz, take care of Lucia! Spade, c'mon!" I barked the orders then made a beeline for the stairs leading up as Chaz crouched over Lucia protectively, using his own body to shield hers.

I started running up when some punk-fuck Samedi with a handgun screamed at me.

"Baron Samedi guides my hand!" He fired and missed.

"Then he must need glasses, fuck-whore!" I yelled back and slammed a burst of bullets into his chest.

I jumped over his falling body and reached the second floor.

"Dice to your right!" warned Spade, who was behind me, just as a Molotov came whizzing by my head. It burst into flames on the wall next to me.

I turned and opened up with my Threat as my attacker was gettin' another Molotov. Three or four bullets caught him in the torso, but another must have hit the bottle cuz suddenly there was like this big-ass eruption of fire all over the Samedi. He screamed and started runnin' around a bit before slamming hard into the glass railing. He crashed through it and fell all the way to the hard atrium floor below with a solid _**-TH-BLUMP-**_.

Mance ran through a door that was marked **Student Council**.

I started charging forward when Spade called out again.

"Hold up!"

I stopped. "What? Mance is right there, that ass-smear just shot Lucia and now the fucker's gonna pay because I don't have ta be nice to'im and let'im go like I did at Shivington and I'm finally gonna shoot his fuck-ass and we'll all be rid of him forever…"

"Babe, you're rambling again," she said. I did do that a lot. "Look there's two entrances." She pointed to another door down the way also marked **Student Council**.

"Fuck," I said taking a breath. "So we each take a door and trap him?"

"Better than that," she smirked then her eyes lit up, "I brought Party Favors!"

"Oh hell yeah!" I yelled as I saw what she was holding – a pair of flash-bangs. She handed one to me.

"We each take a door then chuck'em in, okay?" she asked.

"Sounds like a plan," I agreed.

I waited 'til she got into position, then we opened both glass doors together and threw the flash-bangs in. I pulled my door quickly shut. There were a pair of loud _**-KA-BOOMPS- **_and the floor shook. A small hairline crack appeared in the glass of the door.

"Go, go, go!" I yelled and shoved my way inside. A Samedi soldier (not Mance) stumbled into view and I let loose with my Threat. He fell over just as another Samedi tripped holding her eyes. A final burst and she fell as well.

There seemed to be more of the Samedi in here then just Mance. Gunshots from Spade's .44Shepherd let me know she found some as well.

I started reloading my SMG as I looked about the place. Cubicles had been blown to crap – their walls falling all over the place. I'd just managed to get the clip in when a roar took me by surprise.

Mance's tall ass came chargin' at me. Before I could get my gun up, he plowed into me knockin' me aside. My Threat and NR4 went flying away - fuck, I was tired of that always happening with my weapons – and I slammed into the carpeted floor. He stopped and kicked me in the gut.

"I told you, bitch, that if I ever got my hands on you I'd take my time – nice and slow," he said through his twisted face. "Now it's time to play." He reached down for me with his grubby hands.

_**BLAM!**_

A shot rang out and the Samedi thug stumbled forward, his shoulder bleeding.

"Get off her!" Spade screeched at him, aiming her gun at his head.

"NO!" I called out with a grunt. "This fucker's mine!" I scrambled to my feet holding my stomach – it really hurt – and stumbled quickly to my weapons. I gritted my teeth against the pain as I got them and spun around. I aimed my Threat at him.

Mance turned and looked back at me. "You think you got the balls…?"

_**-BRRRPT-BRRRPT-BRRRRRRRPT-BRPT-**_

I emptied over twenty rounds into that piece of shit. He flopped around like a rag-doll then splatted onto the floor. I walked calmly over to him and with my off hand aimed my NR4 at his head.

"And just so there's no confusion this time as to who killed who…" I tapped two rounds into the back of his knappy-ass dome. "Hm, apparently, I do have the balls."

* * *

><p><strong>Frat Row, University District, Southern Stilwater<strong>

**Friday, May 13, 2011, 1:17pm**

**Saints' University Loft**

**…**

**...**

"…and that was that," Dice finished up her tale.

Pierce and Artemis traded glances then turned back to the little Saint.

"Yeah," agreed Spade. "That's pretty much what happened. Dice got screwed outta killing some guy named Gaede or something a while back and wanted to claim Mance's kill."

"Damn straight. Pop-Pop, fucker is dead now," Dice used exaggerated gestures, then winced and grabbed her stomach. "Oh fuck, why they always go for the gut? Damn."

"Alright, you all did good. The Stilwater University Neighborhood is ours," Pierce beamed. "Shit, thanks to what the four of you did, the entire University District is now owned by the Saints." He nodded. "Yeah, let's see Shaundi's little ass top that!"

"Well," Dice interjected, "It kinda was her info that got us there in the first place. I mean she even phoned us this morning before the hit." She paused as she noticed Pierce's scowl then added, "Just sayin', boss."

"You gonna be okay?" Artemis tried to steer the conversation away as he indicated Dice's injury. "Need looking after?"

"Pssh," Dice scoffed as she waved him off. "I've survived worse than this." She glanced over at the couch where Darcy was patching up Lucia. "'Sides, it's not me that was shot."

"…and you're going to need antibiotics to make sure there's no infection," Darcy was telling Lucia. "So first we'll do the one for the pain."

The young Mexican girl winced as Darcy jabbed a needle into her leg. "_Oh dios duele tanto..."_

"I know," Chaz comforted her as he held her hand, "But you did so well out there."

"B-but they fucked up my hair," she whined holding up a mangle lock. "I mean for real! Look!"

"It's still looks, uh, beautiful," Chaz continued on, trying to placate her.

"So what's the score then?" Spade asked. "Dice says you guys had a bunch of shit going on?"

Pierce glanced to Artemis who nodded at him.

"She's cool," he said. "Hell, boss, she just helped us, right?"

"I guess," Pierce agreed. "Well, the Boss and me dropped those Samedi copters. Not one of'em made it through. I mean with her shooting and my driving skills, y'know they didn't stand a chance." Then he muttered, "Course, there's no accounting for the Boss's taste in music."

"We get all the neighborhoods?" Dice asked.

"Gat, Carlos, and Shaundi pretty much wiped up the Sons who were left at the Ultor Dome Neighborhood," he nodded again, "…so yeah, that's ours now, too."

"What about Dyson?" the tiny blonde Saint pressed. "He and Tamara, er, the Wheel Woman, they, uh, get the trailer park?"

"Hm," Pierce said as he pursed his lips and rubbed the bottom of his chin, "Truthfully, nobody's heard from Dyson close to four days now, y'know since the meeting with the Boss."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, Tamara went by his place this morning, but no one's heard from her either," the Saints' Lieutenant admitted.

"And that didn't strike you as strange," Spade leaned forward with a scowl. "Nobody's checked?"

"Girl," Pierce retorted, "…while I appreciate your aid today, ya really don't need to be meddling inta Saints' business."

"Girl?" Spade stood. "Seriously? I will lay your smug ass out for…!"

"Alrightee then!" Dice interrupted. "Look, we're all tired, okay? Let's just calm it down."

"Yeah," Artemis stood. "Y'know when Lil Sister is being the voice of reason, we all just need to step back."

"That's right," Dice replied, then she blinked. "Hey! That wasn't cool."

"Alright look," the Saints' Lieutenant mumbled, as he backed down, "Bottom line: you guys did good and you'll get your money as soon as the Boss Lady authorizes it. Go and get some rest."

"That sounds good," Dice said as she stood and grabbed Spade who was still glaring at Pierce. The tall brunette looked down at the smaller girl. "Please, Spade, I'm tired. I just wanna go home."

* * *

><p>The door clicked open and Dice entered her apartment, the heaviness of today's events wearing on her were finally taking its toll.<p>

"Hey!" Blake called out to her with a smile from the living room couch. He started to stand.

"No, no, baby," she called out as she moved quickly toward him. "Don't get up."

"Everything go alright?" he inquired, concern evident on his face. "Everybody okay?"

She moved around the front of the couch and knelt next to where he was sitting. She embraced him in a solid hug, holding him tightly. She stayed that way for a few moments.

"Wuh wann," she finally mumbled into his shoulder.

"What?"

"I said 'we won'," she repeated as she lifted her face away from him. "It's over, the school's ours… hell, the whole district's ours according to Pierce."

"You did it," he congratulated her with an earnest smile.

She looked at him with a half-grin and gave a tired nod.

"Yeah, almost fucked up everything cuz I moved too quick, though," she began rambling again, "…and then Lucia got shot in the leg but they're taking care of her and giving her shots and stuff but before that she went all ape-shit cuz her hair was shot and she was yellin' in Spanish and I couldn't tell what she was saying… mmph!"

Blake wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as he kissed her. Unlike when he surprised her on the back-lot a while back, Dice was ready for him; actually, she was hoping that he'd do it.

She didn't resist him this time, rather one arm snaked up under his shirt until her nails were digging into the bare flesh of his back. Her other hand tunneled into his hair as she angled his head, pressing against him as their tongues battled for dominance. When, after a moment, he started to win, she began nibbling on his lower lip.

Abruptly, he broke the kiss and raked his teeth lightly across her cheek, down along her chin and throat and finally into the crook of her neck.

"Oh, fuck, yeah," she moaned as the hand in his hair clenched and pulled his head down further against her. She shuddered as he bit harder on her neck and shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered as she enjoyed the sensation and her body started leaning backward, going limp.

"Okay, hold up, hold up," she pushed away from him and stood. "C'mere," she whispered, helping him to his feet.

She grabbed the front of his shirt and guided him to the bedroom. She moved him to the mattress and eased him down. She grabbed Mr. Tumbles off her bed and slid him under it – he didn't need to see what was about to happen.

Dice started lifting Blake's shirt off of him, careful not to brush against the healing slash on his side.

"Lay back and grab those metal thingies," she ordered, indicating the metal spokes in the headboard.

He did as he was bid and started pulling his shirt all the way off.

"No, that's not what I said to do," she sighed. She tightened his shirt into makeshift bindings and tied his wrists to the spokes.

He smiled up at her. "So, the conquering general wants her prize now, huh?"

"Yes, she does." Then her eyes narrowed with mischief. "But, meh, I guess you'll do," she teased.

He started to balk, but she placed a finger to his lips.

"Ssh, I'm the leader of the crew now, remember? I'm in charge." She looked down appreciatively at the offering before her. "Don't worry, though," she murmured as she ran her fingertips across his chest, along his neck and down his cheek. "You're kinda pretty, so I may keep you."

She unbuckled his jeans and patted his leg to make him lift his hips up, pulling his jeans away when he did so.

"Anyway, I hope you're feeling lucky today, Mr. Thomas," she said as she gently straddled his hips, mindful of his injuries. She pulled her vest and shirt off over her head.

"Oh?" he replied.

"Yep." She lay across him to lightly nip him on the chest. "Cuz, baby…" she said breathlessly with a hungry smile as her gaze locked with his, "...you are about to roll the _Dice_."

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN: So it only took 31 chapters for _that_ to finally happen with those two.**

**And whatever happened to Mr. Kind? Find out next chapter...**

**Thanks for reading!**


	32. Ep 3: Retaliation, Part 14

**Yay! I'm back!**

**My bud _shadow182angel_ has said before that one of the best functions of fanficiton was that it allowed you to experiment with different types of writing and I agree. ****Last chap was my first attempt at first person and in this chap I tried something else. While Mr. Kind is the central character of the chap, I've tried writing from other people's POV instead of his. **

**It seems to have come out all right, but please let me know what you think...**

**Anyway, a big thanks to my fellow FF writers _shadow182angel_, _High Mage Lady Hawkmoon_, _CertainUncertainty_, and _DoubleH19/Red's Revenge_ for their support and feedback, and to everyone else who continues to read my fic.**

**[Insert usual stuff about not owning Saints Row, just my own OCs and ideas, yadda]**

* * *

><p><strong>Being a Saint<strong>

**Episode 3: Retaliation**

**Part 14**

* * *

><p><strong>Little Shanghai, Chinatown District, Southern Stilwater<strong>

**Friday, May 13, 2011, 10:33am**

* * *

><p>Tamara scowled as she drove her purple Destiny west past <em>Noitolov Storage<em>. Her cell continued to ring until a generic voicemail answered.

"_Hello. The user you have tried to contact is unavailable at the time. Please leave a message at the beep."_

"Fuck it, Wexor," she groused slapping the phone shut before tossing it in the empty passenger seat. "Where you been?"

Four days. It'd been four days since she dropped Wexor off after the meeting with the Boss and her Lieutenants. Something had been bothering him, she could sense it, but what it was, she couldn't fathom.

He'd told her to leave him alone, to go spend time with her boyfriend, Trey, and she'd done just that. That was on Monday. And now - four days later - it was time for the mission at Elysium Fields.

Tamara shook her head in doubt as she arrived at the abandoned _Fancy Wigs and Moustaches_ warehouse; Wexor and she were supposed to take out the neighborhood by themselves. Just the two of them alone against all those Sons of Samedi. How they were going to accomplish that, she didn't know. Although, she admitted to herself, if there was one thing Wexor was good at, it was crushing people who opposed him.

She activated the garage door remote clipped to her sun-visor and, as the door opened, she was surprised to see both of Wexor's cars – a black Zomkah and a black and white Magma. He should be home then.

Perplexed, she pulled her Destiny into the spot left open for it. As she exited her car and moved to the door connecting the garage to the warehouse interior, she failed to notice the loose screws on the hastily closed cover of the oversized industrial ventilation shaft in the ceiling near the northwest corner of the garage.

She rang the buzzer on the east wall near the door.

"Yo, Wex! It's me!" she called up at the camera mounted above over the door's keypad. "Let me in."

She waited a moment.

Nothing.

"Fucking seriously, Wex?" She entered the security code: 52637-227766. The green light on the pad lit as the sound of the heavy door unlocking could be heard.

"I swear to shit if you're trying some bullshit…" She drew a GDHC.50 from one of her shoulder-holsters. "…I will cap your fucking ass."

She entered the warehouse, heading straight for the elevator.

_You watch over his crazy ass – I don't need to be losing anybody else right now._ The Boss's orders from the meeting ran through her mind as she rode up to the third floor.

What was he doing all this time? No one had heard from him since Monday. Not Johnny, not Will, not even the Boss herself. Something was going on, something seemed off, and she didn't like that feeling at all.

She arrived at the door to his loft - it had been converted from one of the warehouse floors. She raised her hand to knock, but something compelled her not to.

Instead, she got out her key and unlocked the door as quietly as possible, gun held at the ready. She wasn't prepared for what she found as she entered.

Wexor's desk was a mess. The desk lamp was pulled forward, the light tilted at an odd angle.

There were papers strewn everywhere: on the floor, on the bed, and even on the chairs. Some were building plans, others were maps. There were bills for unknown phone-numbers and random bank account statements. Files on electrical wiring and conduits. Even traffic schedules.

"Wex?" she whispered then she finally saw the bullet holes. There were at least three in the walls, one near the entrance door itself.

A wave of cold overcame her as she stepped further into the loft. And then, there upon the floor she found him. She found Wexor Kind.

"Holy shit!" she exclaimed. "What-what the hell happened?"

* * *

><p><strong>Four days earlier…<strong>

As Tamara dropped Dyson off on Monday, the criminal named Isaac had entered the garage before the door closed and managed to avoid the security camera completely. The clear contacts he wore over his pale green eyes had been attuned to the blue light of his specially designed flashlight, allowing him to see perfectly in the darkness.

His specialized muffled mini-drill had made quick and quiet work of the covering to the large ventilation shaft that ran throughout the building. Isaac did have an advantage though, for he had been here before. He'd inspected this very warehouse for Mr. Kind over five years ago when the latter had purchased the building, when they ran in the same circles.

But now, Isaac was on a mission. Sure, the owner of this building had a price tag worth nearly a quarter million on his head, but his real reason for being here was to prove himself Wexor's better. To show Mr. Kind who truly deserved the mantle of the city's most dangerous man.

Crawling through the shaft, Isaac pulled a balaclava over his face, obscuring his features. He shook his head. There were no infrared sensors, no tripwires, nothing. He'd offered to install the security measures himself, to lighten the cost on his one-time friend, but Mr. Kind never listened.

It was almost too easy.

Isaac distributed his weight as evenly as he could along the outer edges so that the sound of the metal warping due to his mass would be as minimal as possible. As he crawled through the long tunnel, he realized he needn't have bothered.

A long, continuous hissing crackle indicated that the water was on. Isaac smiled to himself. His target was taking a shower.

Increasing his speed, Isaac quickly arrived at his destination: a vent overlooking Mr. Kind's loft, directly above his bed. He checked the cover for traps or sensors. Finding none, the criminal shook his head again, undid the bolts and eased the cover aside.

Catlike, the intruder dropped onto the bed, rolled and stood in the entryway near the large modernized bathroom. The steam from the hot water rolled out of the open door of the shower.

Wait. _Open_ door?

Isaac blinked as he took a half-pace back only to step in a water-shaped footprint.

"Bloody hell," the Brit whispered even as he detected the cocking of a revolver's hammer behind his head.

_**BLAM!**_

Only his blinding speed and years of training allowed Isaac to dodge the fatal shot. He spun quickly and turned towards his target, a six foot tall pale-skinned man whose normally spiky black hair was now plastered wet atop his head. It was Mr. Kind, still dripping from the shower, naked save for a large .44Shepherd revolver in his right hand. His cornflower blue eyes flashed as he pulled the trigger again.

_**BLAM!**_

Isaac moved low and came at his target who had at least five inches on him. He ducked up and under his opponent's arm, gripping it and turning the revolver away. A third shot rang out, impacting close to the loft's entryway.

Isaac tightened his right arm in, striking Mr. Kind in the side of his torso with his elbow. The Saint's cleaner grunted, but didn't fall. Rather, the taller man brought his own elbow down hard upon Isaac's shoulder. The shorter British man gave ground even as Mr. Kind tried twisting the revolver forward for another shot.

Isaac finally managed to grip his opponent's wrist with his left hand, while smashing his right fist into Mr. Kind's bicep. The killer's arm spasmed and the revolver flew from his grasp.

Anger crossed the taller man's eyes, and he grabbed Isaac's shirt and smashed his head forward, square into the Brit's unprotected face. A quick knee crashed into his chest a second later pushing him away.

The shorter man stumbled back, momentarily stunned, but it was long enough. With a crazed roar of malice, the naked man charged forward, wrapping his hands around Isaac's throat as the two slammed back into the desk.

Isaac grappled with his larger overbearing opponent, but with no clothes to grip onto and the fact that his adversary was slick with water, he could find no purchase to grab, nothing to get a hold of. The crazed killer was too close for him to maneuver properly, to try and use momentum against him.

Panic set in for a moment. He'd forgotten two of the most important strengths of Mr. Kind: his near madness and his hatred for those who oppose him.

Isaac saw that madness, that pure hatred for him in the eyes of his opponent, in the eyes of Mr. Kind. The eyes…

In desperation, Isaac reached behind him even as Dyson tried to choke the life out of him. Finally, he managed to grab his target – the desk's lamp. He angled the head up and flipped the bright light on, directly into the sensitive eyes of Mr. Kind. Luckily Isaac knew his opponent well enough to know his weaknesses.

"Aarg!" was the first sign of pain he'd managed to bring from the killer. The taller man released his grip and blinked furiously, but only for a moment. The savagery quickly returned to Dyson's face and he tensed to lunge at Isaac once more.

"Fucking wait!" he yelled as he removed his balaclava. "Damn, Wexor hold on!"

The killer paused for a second as his eyes narrowed.

"Stenno?" he muttered in disbelief. "Isaac Stenno?"

"Right you are!" the Brit gasped as he leaned back. "Fucking hell."

The taller man regarded him quietly for a moment, then finally…

"What idiocy was that?" he growled. "You seriously thought to breach my home and catch me unawares?"

"Well, mate," the bruised man rubbed his sore face, "you did want the information on the Elysium Fields Trailer Park, correct? I just thought I'd bring you the information in a, shall we say, dramatic fashion."

Mr. Kind scoffed and held out a hand. "Give me the information, Stenno."

Isaac looked down for a second then back up with a smug grin.

"Only after you put on some trousers, you prat."

* * *

><p>Isaac watched as Mr. Kind scrolled through the information downloaded from the flashdrive he had brought.<p>

"Hm, lotsa useful stuff, there, eh?" the cocky intruder muttered as he held the ice pack against his face. "Cost a pretty penny that did."

"Did it?" Dyson muttered. "The cost was almost your life."

"Idiotic twaddle," he grumbled. "Besides you really don't want to short me, do ya, mate?"

The jovial attitude was still there, but Wexor paused.

"Who's outside?" he asked suddenly, very aware of just how powerful Isaac Stenno's organization really was.

"Oh don't remember who I brought with me actually," the shorter man glanced around the loft. "Maybe Brick. Maybe Rodrigo. Doesn't matter. The man you need to worry about is Meson, you remember him, don't you?"

Wexor turned as his guest continued.

"It seems he happens to know where your little cutie likes to hold up. I mean, he knows about the Red Light Loft. And the club below the mission in Bavogian Plaza. That place used to be an old hotel, back in the day. You know it sunk? Right into the ground, it did." He shrugged. "Be a shame, mind you, if that mission sunk one day. Unstable ground and all that. Course, Meson's knowledge of demolitions might just make that happen quicker then expected."

Dyson glanced up at Isaac who was inspecting the ceiling.

"What are you looking for?"

"How did you know I was coming then, eh?" The shorter man finally turned his attention back to his old friend. "I mean I was careful, but damn me, I didn't detect a laser or wire anywhere."

The Saint's cleaner leaned forward with a grim smile.

"And why should I tell you that? What's in it for me?"

Isaac shrugged again. "What do you want?"

"A guarantee that you leave the Saints out of any nasty business between the two of us," Dyson offered. "_All_ of the Saints. What do you say?"

Isaac's eyes narrowed before a half-smirk formed on his lips.

"Done!" he agreed.

"Weight sensors, attached _beneath_ the air ducts," the cleaner explained as he sat back. "They note any extreme changes in mass. They'll activate certain lights in my loft. Such as the one located in the ceiling of the bathroom shower."

The Brit smiled broadly. "Ah, clever you are, chum!" He nodded. "Rodney's what set you up didn't he? Only lad I know who would do such a thing. Outside my boys, right?"

"The agreement was how I knew about your intrusion, that's all," Dyson continued, then he leaned forward again. "What's your price for the information?"

"Hm, twenty thousand ought to cover it," then he paused. "Or, heh, is that little chocolate-skinned lovely still in your employ?" He smirked. "A three-day weekend with her would cover your-"

"Tamara's time is not for sale," the killer growled, his eyes flashing anger again. "EVER. Do you understand me?"

"Relax, old friend," Isaac laughed while holding up his hands. "We're good. Just give me the cash and I'll get out of your way."

Mr. Kind nodded as he moved to get the money.

"But do tell her that I stopped by, alright?"

* * *

><p><strong>Four days later…<strong>

"Holy shit!" Tamara exclaimed as she found Wexor. "What-what the hell happened?"

Dyson was sitting crossed legged on the floor amongst the papers scattered near the recliner wearing only his black jeans. His eyes were closed, his fingers steepled, and a look of concentration was on his face.

Tamara moved over to him and knelt down.

"Holy fuck, Wex!" Concern flashed across her face. "Are you alright?"

Dyson's eyes flew open and his gaze settled upon her.

"I'm fine, Tamara," he purred with a dangerous grin. "You arrived at the most opportune time."

"What's this…" she stood. "…this crap everywhere? These papers and documents and stuff?"

"It's information," he explained, as he slowly got to his feet. "Information given to me by Stenno."

"Stenno?" Her eyes narrowed. "What's that short prick have to do with this?"

"I paid him for extensive information about the trailer park," he continued. "Building plans, telephone zoning sites, accounts and even traffic reports."

"Building plans?" She looked confused. "It's a fucking trailer park."

He smirked. "There's only three sites I care about: The _Food and Fun Grocery_, the cell site just north of the neighborhood, and _Brownwater Bob's Boat Tours_."

She seemed more perplexed than ever. "I don't… I mean I know you're smart as fuck sometimes, but hell, I just don't understand. How's this gonna help?"

"Because, my dear Tamara," he said as he reached up and gripped her chin softly in his hand, a sinister spark in his eye, "…I've studied this information thoroughly." He glanced at all of the paperwork scattered about. "I've locked myself away over the last few days to estimate and plan for nearly every contingency. And with just these few documents, I know exactly how you and I are going to take over Elysium Fields."

She seemed unconvinced.

"You do trust me, don't you?" His smile was dangerous as he gently pinched her chin still in his grasp.

"Always," she admitted. "You know that."

"Good," he purred. "Because this is what we have to do…"

* * *

><p><strong>Elysium Fields, Trailer Park District, Northern Stilwater<strong>

**Friday, May 13, 2011, 12:04pm**

…

…

Standing atop the hill overlooking the trailer park, Tamara frowned as Dyson shaded his eyes against the bright sun. Even with his Aviators on, the glare had a tendency to overwhelm his sensitive eyes. As he watched the Samedi Danvilles parked on the lot in front of the _Food and Fun_ convenient store, she rechecked the message that Shaundi had left them earlier on their voicemail.

"_The Sons have been using the trailer park to develop their products for years. If you can find what trailers they're using for drug labs, you should have no problem making them go 'boom'."_

Tamara looked up again. The _Food and Fun_ was owned by Benjamin Hoyt, and was the main business in the area. If the Boss wanted any money coming from the neighborhood, this building had to stand. Problem was, Hoyt had thrown in with the Samedi.

Two of the three Samedi in charge of Elysium Fields were Teege and Darco, both of whom had been killed by the Boss herself right before the Samedi's brutal attack upon the Saints Hideout a week ago. That left only a minor lieutenant named West Harper in charge of the 'hood. He'd dug in though and kept his troops close.

Their adversaries identified, Dyson and she could move on to the next part of the plan, and here was where Mr. Kind's deviousness shown through.

_Think of it as conquering an army,_ he had said on the drive up here. _Three elements you need to successfully run an army: support, communications, and soldiers. Remove those three and the army's downfall can be guaranteed._

"There they go now," Dyson muttered watching most of the Danvilles load up with a majority of the assembled Samedi and drive east out of the trailer park. He glanced at his watch, then smiled. "Hm, right on time."

He'd said that the commotions caused by the Boss and Pierce, by Gat and the other Lieutenants, even by the young girl named Dice in the Samedi's other neighborhoods would draw out all of the gang's reserve soldiers, wherever they may be. He'd said they'd be leaving around noon. She glanced at her cell for the time.

_***12:05pm***_

She shook her head with a smirk, pretty impressive as usual, but now would be Dyson's greatest trick.

"Ready?" he asked.

She nodded as she glanced at the cell tower they stood next to. Due to Elysium Fields poor location, this was the only cell tower available to cover the entire neighborhood. The heavy metal piping leading to _Brownwater Bob's Boat Tours_ prevented most other signals from working near the area.

Around the tower's base were several homemade explosives designed by the demolition expert and sometimes Saint's ally, Samson.

"Remember to give me time to get in place before you set this off," he explained handing her the remote detonator. "And as soon as you do…?" He left the question open.

"I take out the two transformers that connect with _Food and Fun_," she nodded in the direction of the grocery store.

The only two land lines that led into the neighborhood came in through the convenient store then fed out to the rest of the trailers. With the cell tower and the landlines knocked out, the residents of the area would have no communications with anyone outside of the trailer park – including the Samedi that were left. They'd be cut off from all reinforcements. They'd be effectively trapped inside with Mr. Kind amongst them – like chickens trapped in a henhouse with a fox.

The excess soldiers had been pulled away to deal with the Saints in other parts of the city, the neighborhood communications would be knocked out and with that so would the Samedi's support. It was one of those moments that Tamara was oh so glad to be his ally.

"I'll give you backup as best I can," she declared as she got into her Destiny.

"Take care of yourself, first and foremost," he told her as he hefted his weapons and started walking down the hill. "I'll need you for a quick escape in case things go south."

She nodded and watched as he slid his weapons under his black duster. Besides his combat knife (nicknamed _PATIENCE_) and his two .44Shepherds, Dyson had decided to bring along another of his specialty weapons. The PlatinumAS12Riot, a shotgun he'd designed from the old days when the Saints first started taking over Stilwater. It was a very powerful weapon, with an extended barrel for keeping the shot-spread minimal, double capacity internal tube magazine holding 15 rounds instead of the typical 7, and a folding stock thus making it easier to conceal.

She looked over at the passenger seat where her own addition to her usual pair of GDHC.50s lay. Dyson had given her a GAL43 SMG, (50 round capacity clip) with three clips – the first of which was already loaded. She drove past him and took the long way around, down behind the grocery store. She parked her car behind a dumpster and waited for Dyson's signal.

* * *

><p>Delores Humphries had gathered the trash from all of the bins inside the <em>Food and Fun<em> and was making her way to the dumpster around back. The slim, pretty 24 year old with short red head was in a good mood. Despite this being the dreaded Friday the 13th, she'd gotten an interview to work at one of the _Freckle Bitches_' mobile catering trucks.

The specialty vehicles spread the taste of the beloved famous fast food throughout the city. Of course to qualify to operate one of the vehicles, you had to be pretty, naturally red-headed, and have freckles - which she did. She smirked as she hoisted the two large bags of garbage into the dumpster – apparently being able to drive well didn't seem to be a deciding factor as to whether or not you got the job.

One more week with that creep, Benjamin Hoyt, as her boss. One more week of his lustful glares and 'accidental' gropes, and his pathetic apologies afterwards. She nodded. Nothing could go wrong for the girl now.

A purple Destiny with black tinted windows pulled up slowly next to the dumpster. Behind the wheel was a well-muscled, attractive black woman, her hair pulled up in a high ponytail and dark sunglasses covering her eyes.

"S'up?" the woman called out as she stuck a toothpick between her teeth and chewed at the end.

"Um, nothing much," Delores answered as she headed back towards the front of the store. She passed a Samedi tag on the southern wall of the store bringing her thoughts back to Mr. Hoyt.

Just one more week of dealing with his criminal activities and his dangerous friends who were members of the Sons of Samedi. The gang was rude, disruptive, and stole from the already poor people of the neighborhood. But Mr. Hoyt would never call the cops on them. He made no attempt at covering up his dealings with them and even bragged about facts she was better off not knowing. She wished she could help in some way, but what could she do?

Soon it wouldn't be her problem, though. She'd have her new job, and as soon as she made enough money (driving the specialty vehicles was big-time pay), she'd be out of this god-forsaken neighborhood.

As she rounded the corner to come to the front of the store, she saw four members of the Samedi standing around one of their green Danvilles parked out front. They were trading Loa Dust among themselves, getting high right out in the open. Delores shook her head – all they were doing was lowering the value of the property around here; she truly wished that there was someone who would do something about the gang.

"Excuse me!" called out a newcomer approaching the parking lot.

He was a tall, lean, pale-skinned man with spiky black hair wearing black Aviators and a black duster. His look totally screamed bad-boy and, Delores smirked at the thought, the fact that he definitely wasn't hard on the eyes helped. He seemed to be addressing the green-clad gangmembers.

"Whatchu want, little man?" called out a tough-looking, big-boned woman. Bella was her name?

"Yeah," laughed a scrawny black boy named Johnson, "you seem ta be lost. This here be Samedi territory. Ya need ta jus' fuck off with yerself."

"So sorry," the man replied, "but I'm looking for someone. He goes by the name of West."

Delores froze mere feet from the store's entrance at the mention of the name. Even she knew the local leader of the Samedi crew. She turned to look back at the man in black.

"I have business that I'd like to discuss with him," he pulled down his Aviators and a dangerous glint was in his cornflower blue eyes.

"Apparently you hard a' hearing," a big unknown thug of a Samedi called back to him. He indicated Johnson. "My boy here told you to fuck off and I advise you ta listen to'em."

"I take it none of you are West," the dark man edged closer, then suddenly whipped the side of his duster away revealing what appeared to be a black and platinum shotgun.

The Samedi started scrambling at the sight of the weapon, but Delores stood transfixed as her eyes widened in surprise. Surely, this couldn't be happening, not today.

"Allow me to introduce myself!" the man exclaimed with a twisted sneer as he pulled the weapon up and pointed it at the four Samedi. "My name… is Mr. Kind!"

_**BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!**_

Bella was struck in the upper left torso and spun violently around before thudding into the hard packed dirt road. Johnson was knocked back by the blast that hit him, actually flying up and over the hood of the parked car. The big unknown thug was caught mostly in the legs and lower torso and fell crippled by the third shot. The last Samedi, a short redhead, raced to the passenger door where no doubt his own weapons were stashed. However, he never made it - his back and shoulders splattered blood where the deadly shot caught him. He slumped forward against the car and slid slowly to the ground.

"Oh my god," Delores muttered in horror and raised a hand to her mouth even as she heard the squeals of panic from the customers inside the convenient store. "He just-just shot them all. Right in the middle of the road."

She watched, unable to move, as the man slung the shotgun over his shoulder and then pulled out two large revolvers from holsters strung to his thighs like a cowboy dressed in black minus the hat. He began stalking across the parking lot towards the entrance door where she stood.

A large window about twelve feet to her right suddenly exploded outward as gunfire rang out from inside the small café attached to the grocery. Delores yelped in surprise as she heard the rapid fire of what could only be SMGs coming from inside the building.

The man in black returned fire, the loud _**BLAM**_s of his pistols echoed across the lot; the shots were directed inside the open window. She heard someone scream in pain then the door in front of her burst open and three green-clad men ran outside.

"For the General!" exclaimed the first of them, only to be shot down by their grimly-attired assailant.

The second Samedi managed to almost bring his small SMG to bear on the man in black before he too was shot and dropped to the ground.

The third gangmember thought better of the direct approach and decided on a different tactic – he reached for Delores and pulled the stunned young woman in front of himself as a shield.

"Whatcha… whatcha gonna do now, muthafucka?" the Samedi screamed across the lot at the rapidly approaching attacker. "You gonna shoot an innocent girl?"

"Oh god, please don't!" Delores exclaimed, too distraught at the sudden turn of events to do anything but merely grasp the arm of her captor. "Don't!"

"You're assuming I care, you little shit!" exclaimed the man calling himself Mr. Kind. He aimed his pistol at them and cocked back the hammer. "You obviously know nothing about me."

"You-you're insane," mumbled the Samedi holding Delores even as he tried to aim his own weapon.

"Perhaps, I am," the dark man purred with an evil grin, still aiming at the pair. "Or perhaps, I just have _patience_."

"What the fuck you talkin' ab-" the Samedi grumbled, but he was suddenly cut-off.

_**KWADA-WHOOM!**_

A large explosion shredded apart the hilltop north of the trailer park. Bits of metal and dirt tore through the sky as the neighborhood's only cell tower was demolished.

"Ho-holy fuck!" the Samedi exclaimed in awe - his grip loosening on the girl. He leaned to the side as he gazed up at the crumbling metal structure.

_**BLAM!**_

Delores felt the bullet whiz by her head, she heard the high-pitched _**-zzziiiimmm-**_ as it streaked through the air inches from her face. She heard the impact as the bullet struck true and felt the splash of hot blood and _other matter_ spray from her captor onto the back of her shoulder and across her cheek. Her captor slumped to the ground dead.

Her eyes widened in horror and she trembled slightly from shock as the dark killer approached her, smoke still trailing from the barrel of his large revolver.

"Don't mourn his loss," he murmured as he strode past. "He was a coward and suffered the fate of one. Now, move out of the way."

She nodded numbly and did as she was bidden. The man entered the café entrance and moments later there were muffled gunshots again as he found the remainder of the Samedi who hung out at the arcade in the back.

People screamed and were soon flooding out of the building as still _more_ gunfire could be heard. It sounded like an SMG again only instead of coming from the interior of the building, this time it seemed to originate from _behind_ the store, where the dumpster was located.

There were brief popping noises – like wires shorting out, then a moment later the attractive, athletic black woman with the high ponytail was charging around the corner, a sub-machine gun in her hands and wearing twin shoulder harnesses each carrying a pistol.

The woman headed inside as shouting could be heard from the dark man. Cries of terror and loud pleas could be heard as well. The pleas seemed to be coming from… Mr. Hoyt?

Mechanically, Delores reached out and opened the door to the café. She really shouldn't have - after all, she was alive and had the chance to flee. Why then? Why was she heading toward the raging madness that was consuming the lives of the Samedi? Curiosity? The need for answers?

Who knew? But head toward the chaos she did.

Over the bodies of dead gangmembers she walked. Past broken glass and overturned chairs. Into the arcade with bullet-riddled machines sparking electricity through smashed video screens. She headed toward the shouts and threats, finally finding Mr. Hoyt and the two strangers who seemed to have declared war upon them all.

"Last time you fat prick," the man who called himself Mr. Kind was saying. "The locations of the drug labs or I get really nasty!" Mr. Hoyt was burbling and crying at his feet, blood trickling from a split on his lip.

"I-I don't know," he moaned, "Please. They tell me nothing!"

"Maybe your info was wrong, Wex," the woman suggested to the dark man.

"Stenno, as much of an ass as he is, doesn't make mistakes," he replied. "At least not about something this small."

The athletic woman pursed her lips. "Maybe he just doesn't know."

"He does know," a meek voice spoke suddenly. The two intruders spun and aimed weapons at Delores who took a half-step back in surprise. She didn't understand why at first, until she realized it was herself who had spoken.

"What was that?" Mr. Kind hissed. He lowered his weapon but the woman still kept a pistol trained on her.

Delores cleared her throat before continuing.

"He, uh, _-ahem-_ he has a map." She nodded to the door leading to the freezer where the meats and other perishables were stored. "On the wall. In there. He brags about it all the time."

"You ungrateful little cow," her boss grimaced at her, murder in his eyes. "You'll get killed you stupid little bitch…UUFFF!" The last was exclaimed as the lean man in black smashed the pommel of the revolver into her boss's pudgy balding head. Mr. Hoyt crumpled to the floor.

"Silence, maggot!" the killer commanded then looked back at the redheaded girl again. "Go on."

"It, uh, shows the locations of the drug labs." She was surprised at her own candor in the face of imminent peril. "There're five of them. The biggest one to the far left – that's the one where West is holed up." She looked him straight in the eyes. "That is who you were asking about, right?"

A dark grin worked its way to his lips.

"Yes, young lady," he purred. "Thank you for that. You seem to be quite useful."

"It was worth it," Delores said as a strange calmness came over her. "If it means seeing that jerk getting what he deserves." She indicated the humbled Mr. Hoyt.

The dark man leaned forward with a chuckle as he looked over his Aviators.

"Hm, I think I like you," he murmured as his grin broadened.

* * *

><p>"Okay," Tamara grumbled on the parking lot, her hands on her hips. "What the hell?"<p>

Dyson sighed as he explained again.

"These are military grade satchel charges. Apparently the Samedi in this neighborhood aren't just trafficking in drugs." He looked them over as he handled one of the small boxed-shaped explosive packs. "The adhesive here seems to be activated by a button on the grip. A small electrical pulse makes this plastic-like material on the side capable of attaching itself to any surface – metal, wood, stone, even flesh."

The two senior Saints had found a small cache of the satchel charges hidden near the map, apparently stolen by the Samedi from some paramilitary group named the Masako. Armed with a duffel bag full of the charges and the map pointed out by the girl named Delores, Dyson was ready to complete the mission.

"I'll be back as soon as I'm finished," Dyson went on.

"No," Tamara disagreed with a shake of her head. "I don't care how badass you think you are, a bullet can still drop you. Besides, the Boss said I needed to keep an eye on you. You going against her orders?"

Dyson's eyes narrowed for a moment - it was a low blow, using the Boss in that manner, but it worked.

"Fine," he relented. "But you stay in your car and only provide support on the outside perimeter of the trailer park. I'll take the center." He held up a finger as she started to protest. "That's the way it'll be. No arguing."

"Okay," she groaned. "Let's get this done, then."

He nodded with his usual half-smirk, then started moving out towards the drug labs.

Tamara rushed to her Destiny, got in, and started the engine. Easing around the dumpster and heading for the dirt road encircling the trailers, she heard the first of the explosives going off.

"Damn you, Wexor," she cursed under her breath. "You aren't even waiting for me."

She shifted gears and plowed forward, risking a glance at the carnage that was ensuing in the middle of the neighborhood. One trailer was already in flames and green-clad gangsters were coming out and shooting weapons. All of them were firing at a single black-clothed individual: Mr. Kind.

But whereas the Samedi had numbers, the cleaner of the Saints had skill. While they fired off random bursts in his general direction, he used precision. The Samedi charged, screamed, fired, and threatened, but they were dying as quickly as they arrived, either by high-powered shotgun or the deadly accuracy of his revolvers. Mr. Kind was, quite literally, fighting a one-man war… and _winning_.

Tamara drove closer and fired out the passenger window when she was able. Steering with one hand, the Saints' expert driver fired at any enemy she could see. Her shots were aimed at large clusters of the enemy gangmembers, but other than managing to strike one unfortunate Son in the leg, her shots all missed. But she did manage to distract the enemy soldiers enough that Dyson was able to get to cover and reload his own weapons as he needed.

She took no time to reload her own pistols though. As one emptied, she dropped it on the front passenger seat and pulled out the other. The second pistol soon emptied as well and she finally reached for the GAL43 just as another of the drug labs exploded. She smirked.

A lot of what Mr. Kind accomplished was through fear and intimidation, but there was a very valid reason why that fear existed. He was, truth-be-told, an extremely dangerous man, capable of terrible acts of murder and carnage. And when he was fully prepared and unleashed against an enemy, such as now, his combination of patience, intelligence, determination, and skill made him nigh unstoppable.

Another explosion roused Tamara from her thoughts. Three labs gone, two to go.

A sudden movement up to her left caused the Wheel Woman to glance from the carnage below to the road above. There, a heavy green-colored Wellington lumbered quickly over the hill and aimed for the center road upon which Dyson was walking along. It seemed as if not all of the enemy back-up was gone.

"Mother-fuck!" she cursed as she steered her car toward the enemy vehicle. She came to a sudden low dip and her car groaned in protest as the bumper scraped against the uneven dirt.

"Hold together, girl," she pleaded quietly. "Just need ya to catch up with these assholes." In a matter of moments, Tamara was alongside the heavier, slower vehicle and broadsided the unwieldy station wagon.

The two occupants yelped in surprised, but recovered quickly. The Samedi in the passenger seat clambered into the back and readied a shotgun.

"Nuh uh, bitch!" Tamara screamed and pulled right, broadsiding them again, causing the thug in the back to misfire. The enemy driver, however, pulled left and smashed his heavy car against the Destiny which started to give ground.

"Nnnngghh!" Tamara groaned as she fought for control. She made a rapid adjustment left then pulled quickly right, but she couldn't force the determined Samedi from the road. The road was coming to an end and she needed to turn right to stay on it, but the heavier enemy vehicle wasn't giving way.

"Fine, fuck you bitches!" she screamed defiantly as she hit the brakes for a brief moment and then quickly shifted gears back into drive. She grabbed up the GAL43 as she made a sharp turn right, the Wellington now on her left. She caught up again to the slower car and just as she got near the rear wheels of the station wagon, she turned sharply left smashing into the right rear side of the enemy car.

This resulted in her actually using the PIT maneuver on the Samedi car which began to spin out. At the same time she flipped her SMG to full auto and opened up into the vehicle, trying to hit the driver.

_**-BRRRRRPPPTT-BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPT- **_

The heavy wagon lurched and spun out to the right as bullets tore into the side and through the windows. The driver tried compensating but suddenly slumped down over the wheel, dead from her gunfire. The station wagon turned further to the right and began dragging the lighter Destiny with it.

"Oh, no, Motherfuck, no no no no no!" Tamara, struggled with the steering wheel while trying to slow down, but the uneven dirt road encircling Elysium Fields lacked the traction she needed to reduce her speed properly. Both Samedi and Saints' cars were pulled into the middle of the trailer park.

Tamara quit fighting against the other car and instead tried moving _with_ it, turning as harshly to the right as she could. She finally managed to pull away, but crashed through a small wooden fence and then over a small mailbox. As the Wellington lurched onward, it began to distance itself from her, giving her more room to maneuver.

Dirt was kicked up and suddenly a trailer was directly in her path.

"Shit!" she slammed on the brakes and whipped the wheel as far to left as it would go while the green-colored vehicle barreled on ahead. The enemy gangbanger in the back seat dove out as the Wellington smashed into one of the Samedi's drug labs.

_**KROOOOOMM!**_

The resulting explosion blew apart the trailer and a flaming metal object crashed into her windshield, smashing it, but not breaking through due the reinforced windows Dyson had made her put on her car. The object, which appeared to be a small barbecue grill, rolled off the windshield and hood and crashed to the ground.

But Tamara was stunned, the explosion had turned the area a blinding white for a second and now there seemed to be two of everything. Two steering wheels, two dashboards, two enemy Samedi lifting themselves off the ground and stumbling towards her. Wait, what was that last part?

"Stupid, bitch!" The Samedi screamed, but it seemed to be a muted whisper due to the ringing in her ears. "That was my cousin behind the wheel!" He seemed to mean the driver of the now blown-to-shit station wagon. He moved closer to her, bringing his shotgun with him.

Her head wobbled for a moment and she realized she needed to shoot him, but where was her gun? She looked around. Oh yeah, it was still in her lap. She tried to pick it up, but it didn't want to stay in her fingers.

She blinked and finally everything seemed to come back into focus as the Samedi reached her window.

"Fuck you whore!" the Samedi screamed and pointed the shotgun at her head.

She look up at him and thought _I guess this is where I die – well, that sucks._

_**thwip-thwip-thwip-thwip-THUNK!**_

The enemy soldier lurched sideways as a twelve-inch long combat knife flew through the air and imbedded itself into the side of his neck. He gurgled for a moment then a shot rang out catching him in the side.

_**BLAM!**_

He stumbled away from the car and was shot again.

_**BLAM!**_

He finally fell onto his back.

_**BLAM!-klik-klik-klik**_

Coming into view was Dyson, seething hatred upon his face as he pulled the trigger of his gun over and over. He finally seemed to realize that his revolver was empty and quit trying to shoot the dead thug. Tearing his eyes away from his deceased opponent, he rushed to his friend's side, concern etched on his features.

"Tamara?" he croaked, his voice seemed shallow and unsure – not like him at all. "Are you okay? I'm sorry. This wasn't supposed to happen. I saw you tumble off the road and I thought… The explosion I mean."

"Am I drowning?" she burbled at him.

"What?" His eyes narrowed. "Drowning?"

"Somethin's in my mouth." She blew through her lips and blood spattered onto the windshield.

"Your nose is bleeding and running into your mouth," he confirmed then leaned in close. "I don't think it's broken though. Here." He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a dark purple silk handkerchief.

"I'm sorry Wexor," she apologized, holding the handkerchief to her face. "I-I don't think my car is… I don't think I can give you support anymore."

He smirked and brushed the back of his hand gently against her cheek.

"Don't worry, I'll deal with it. Do you think you can make it back to the convenient store?"

She nodded. Her fingers seemed to be working again and she slowly reloaded her weapons.

"Good," he replied as he reloaded his own guns and finally retrieved his knife, _PATIENCE_, from the thug's neck. Then he looked over at his friend who appeared as damaged as her car. "I'll make reparations for all of this – I promise you that."

She nodded again and then mumbled, "Just be careful, okay?"

"I will," he growled. "It's time I end this farce."

He nodded at her then turned, making his way towards the last drug lab, towards the hideout of West Harper.

* * *

><p>"West Harper!"<p>

The dark-haired Samedi stopped his scrambling and looked up as he heard his name being shouted outside of his reinforced trailer.

"It's Mr. Kind!" the evil voice called out. "And I'm coming... for you!"

When the cell tower on the hill exploded, West had been loading up another shipment of Loa Dust for distribution. After that – and the gunfire heard near the convenient store – he tried to call his thugs to see what was going on, but got no signal. Neither could a dial-tone be gotten on the landline.

A lot of his troops had been called away to deal with other problems happening to the Samedi across the river to the southern half of the city. Then his drug labs and men were being taken out with no warning from that useless prick Hoyt that he paid good money to at the _Food and Fun_.

How did this happen? Who'd he piss off?

It didn't matter. What did matter was getting the hell out of the neighborhood as quick as possible. He ordered Slink and Rogers to start packing up the Loa Dust and Pete to get the extra Satchel charges stored in the back of the trailer ready for transport. Then suddenly his name was being called out from the chaos by this… this Mr. Kind.

Pete looked back at him.

"What'll we do, man?"

"Keep packing the shit up!" West ordered his soldier with a shove. "Don't be wasting time!"

Slink looked through one of the slats in the window.

"Anything?" the minor Samedi Lieutenant asked.

"Naw, man," Slink grumbled with a shake of his head. "Too much dust and crap blowing around out there."

_**-thump-**_

The Samedi jumped as they heard something strike the entry door of the trailer.

"The hell?" asked Rogers.

_**-vreeeeeeeeeeee-**_

"Oh shit, get down!" barked West as he lunged behind his desk. He knew what the high-pitched sound was – it came from one of the confiscated explosives that the Samedi had stolen from the Masako.

_**BLOOM!**_

The entry door was blown apart and dirt and debris flew into the trailer's interior with concussive force.

West's head was reeling as he grabbed for his pistol holstered behind his back.

A heavy footfall echoed at the entryway and then there was a loud blast.

_**BLAM!**_

Rogers flew backwards and tumbled over the ratty couch.

_**BLAM! BLAM!**_

Slink slammed into the wall, blood splattered on his chest, then he slowly slumped down.

A shotgun went off somewhere and West heard a low grunt from the direction of the invader. Pete got him? West slowly peeked up over the top of his desk.

_**BLAM!**_

A brilliant streak of light and smoke from the barrel of the intruder's revolver mixed among the heavy debris cloud floating about the trailer obscuring everything in dark, elongated silhouettes. Pete screamed then stumbled back into the mist.

West pulled up his pistol, looking for movement when suddenly the heavy pommel of a revolver crashed into his face. He wobbled back then tried to regain his footing as the pommel came again, smashing into his cheek, spinning him and causing him to lose his weapon. He was grabbed from behind and slammed painfully facedown into the desktop.

"The Samedi are done here, you fucker!" a low voice growled in his ear. "Tamara, one of the few friends I have in this accursed existence, was almost killed a short while ago. Had that happened…" The figure leaned in closer, his lips brushing the Samedi's ear. "…then your pathetic General and his cult of followers would have had a war from me that they wouldn't _begin_ to understand."

West was yanked back, turned around and pulled close to the dark invader, dust in his hair and on the lenses of his Aviators.

"This neighborhood is now property of the Saints, understood? Your kind is no longer welcome here," the killer hissed.

"I'll-I'll tell the General," West agreed. "I'll pass the message along."

"You misunderstand me," Mr. Kind said, holding West by the collar with one hand as the other reached into a duffel at his side.

"Wha?"

"You aren't going to _pass along_ the message," the killer's eyes flashed. "You _ARE_ the message." He withdrew his hand from the duffel and slapped something against West's face.

"Oh my god!" the Samedi realized immediately as the object stuck to his cheek, ear and hair. He felt the plastic attach to his skin then solidify quickly, keeping him from removing the object from his head.

It was one of the satchel charges.

"Goodbye, West." The man in black leaned away and kicked the minor Lieutenant square in the chest, sending him tumbling over the desk.

Panicked, West got quickly to his feet and started running blind and directionless in the trailer trying to pull the weapon off of his head. He stumbled over Pete's body and fell into the room housing the drug lab and the remainder of his stolen satchel charges.

"No no no!" he cried out as he could see the green light on the electric receiver suddenly change to red – indicating the detonator had been pressed.

_**-vreeeeeeeeeeee-**_

"NOOOOO!"

* * *

><p><em><strong>BUDDA-KA-DOOOMM!<strong>_

An explosion, bigger than any beforehand, rocked the western side of Elysium Fields.

Tamara, Delores, and the injured Benjamin Hoyt looked on and watched as a column of fire, earth, and debris rocketed into the sky.

"Holy…!" Tamara got out as the concussive wave was felt even here on the other side of the neighborhood.

"Your friend?" the young red-head asked. "Was-was he…?"

"Hah!" Mr. Hoyt chuckled with a dark grin. "Slick bastard's dead, heheh."

"Shut up," Tamara growled as she glanced at the pudgy store-owner.

"Face it," he growled back. "You're boyfriend's gone. Blown to kingdom come and now you're all alone."

She turned back to the still pluming column.

"C'mon, Wex," she pleaded quietly as she stared at the wasteland. "Don't end it like this. C'mon."

"You're by yourself now, bitch," the short man continued. "And look, all my friends aren't dead outside."

It was true. Two of Mr. Kind's very first victims – a big-boned woman and a large male Samedi – were still alive by the Danville where they had fallen. The woman was shot in the shoulder and the big man seemed to have been hit in the legs. They crawled slowly away from the car and were making their way to the store.

"And if they survived, ya just know others are out there," Mr. Hoyt said with a deep chuckle. He gleefully rubbed his fat hands together. "They're just waiting. Waiting for the fires to die down." His laugh deepened. "And of course they're gonna be making their way here."

Doubt started to creep in. She shook her head.

"Shut the fuck up!" Tamara ordered as she scanned the area for any movement that might have been her partner.

"Now you're pretty and all," the evil man went on. "…and I'm sure the boys'll want to take out some of their frustration for all of their dead buddies. Hell, Bella there…" he indicated the big-boned Samedi woman who had dragged herself about a third of the way to the shop. "…she'll probably want to take a run at you herself."

"No, he'll make it," she whispered.

"Just leave now, bitch," the short man offered. "Why get caught up in the aftermath of this shit? You two tried – and failed. Now get your ass outta here and let us run this neighborhood the way we used…"

_**CLANG!**_

Tamara spun around, pistol at the ready, just in time to see Benjamin Hoyt crumple to the floor once again. Behind him stood the waitress, Delores, with a frying pan in her hand.

"God, I've wanted to do that for like years," she mumbled with a grin.

The Saint smiled at her then looked down at the unconscious man.

"Hmph, Wexor was right. You are useful."

"Look!" the redhead suddenly shouted as she pointed west. "There!"

Tamara turned quickly and her mouth split into a wide grin.

Over the hill, along the road, he came. A figure in black making his way boldly back to their location; it was Mr. Kind.

His duster and glasses had soot upon them, and singes of smoke trailed from his duffel and hair. Over his left shoulder he held his platinum and black shotgun. In his right hand was one of his revolvers.

"Hell yeah!" Tamara cheered.

At the noise, Bella looked around and saw the dark man; she turned towards him and put an arm defensively in front of her face.

"Oh shit, no!" she screamed, "Have mercy please!"

But there was none from the enforcer. He raised his .44Shepherd and squeezed the trigger; the bullet flew out, tearing through the woman's hand and into her face. She fell onto her back, dead.

The larger male Samedi whimpered and tried to crawl faster only to receive a bullet into the back of his skull - blood and brains vacating his head.

And then, he was there, back with them at the store.

"Miss me?" he purred.

"Fuck, you know I did!" his partner laughed.

"And you, young lady?" He turned towards Delores. "How would like a job?"

* * *

><p>The young woman named Delores recounted the money Mr. Kind had given her. Five thousand bucks! She was to be the new connection of the neighborhood to the Saints. She'd collect their money and give it them, and be allowed to keep a small portion for her troubles. She was bold enough to ask that no drugs be made here anymore. The people of Elysium Fields had suffered enough.<p>

It wasn't an easy sell, but Mr. Kind agreed to it. His Boss hadn't been expecting much from the 'hood anyway. But the waitress wasn't as greedy as Mr. Hoyt and her own cut was a lot less. However, the fact that Mr. Hoyt now worked _for her_ more than made up for the money.

She shook her head. She was now one of the very criminals she wanted to get rid of, but if she was in charge of the area, maybe it wouldn't be as bad. Her lips pursed as she thought about it. Maybe it would be better after all.

Mr. Kind had been wounded in the final exchange with West Harper. The lady Saint and she patched him up and got him ready to move. The last thing he'd asked for was a can of purple spray-paint, which the store luckily had in stock.

_Hrm,_ she thought to herself as watched the two Saints leave, _I wonder what he needed that for?_

…

…

"Well?" Mr. Kind leaned back and looked at his artwork – which was truth-be-told very lacking.

The Samedi tag had a big purple _**X**_ over it and below was a poorly written _**Saints.**_ Beneath it all was another line:

_**ALL YOUR HOOD ARE BELONG TO US**_

"Um, it's not written correctly," Tamara confessed with a cocked eyebrow. "Maybe that explosion fucked you in the head."

"No, it's like the game: All your base are belong…" he trailed off as she just stared obliviously at him. He sighed. "Forget it. Let's get going."

They climbed into Tamara's battered Destiny. The car was going to be difficult to find parts for as they just didn't seem to have any of these models around anymore in Stilwater.

As they got to the end of the neighborhood, the two criminals surveyed the area, looking at the fiery destruction that had been wrought.

"Well, the Boss did say to make it apocalyptic," Tamara said with a sigh.

"That she did," Mr. Kind said with sinister grin, his eyes flashing with amusement. "That she did."

Then as they pulled away, he laughed - a low dark, grim laugh that hinted just slightly at the hate he kept deep inside. He laughed at the deaths of all of the Samedi and the suffering he had caused them.

* * *

><p><strong>Prawn Court, Red Light District, Southern Stilwater<strong>

** Friday, May 13, 2011, 2:26pm**

…

…

Darien glanced over at the bedroom doorway as he heard a shrill screaming echoing from inside. He dropped his game controller on the floor and ran as quick as he could to the bedroom.

"Knickers!" the dark haired young Samedi called out as he wrenched the door open.

Upon the bed sat his girlfriend, Knickers, a pale-skinned attractive young woman whose long blonde hair was tightly braided with green and black beads.

"Baby?" the young man sat down next to her and reached toward her.

Horror was in her eyes and she cringed away from his touch until she realized who he was. She finally relented and allowed him to hold her close. He stroked her hair and shoulders trying to hush her sobs.

"It's alright," he consoled her. "It was a dream, baby, just a dream."

"N-no, Darien," she cried, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. "You know my visions aren't just dreams."

"I know, baby," he sighed. He actually did. He knew she had gifts.

She was blessed. She was something special placed on this earth to better it. To understand it in ways he could never fathom. But she got caught up with the gang known as the Sons of Samedi and their talk of voodoo, and spirits, and other dark ideas.

That twisted man, Mr. Sunshine and his priest, The Magic Man, had seduced her with their offer of extending her insights and teaching her how to understand her abilities better. She'd been lured in and Darien had followed her to keep an eye on her as well as he could. He hated being a Samedi, but he couldn't just abandon the girl he loved to those evil men.

"He's coming for us, for the Samedi," she muttered into his shoulder, bringing him back to the situation at hand.

"Who is, babe?"

"The Son of Hate, the Dark One," she sobbed harder into his shoulder. "He burnt our fellows to the ground. He laughed at their suffering. And now…" She cried louder, digging her nails into his shirt as she held on tightly. "Now he comes for the rest of us."

What the hell had they gotten themselves into, Knickers and he? What madness had they become part of, and even more importantly, how did they get out?

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**** For those who aren't sure... the Platinum shotgun and Wheel Woman's car (the Destiny) were actually from the first Saints Row game. Sorry, little nostalgia there.**

**Thanks for reading.**


	33. Ep 3: Retaliation, Epilogue

**Finally, the end to the roller coaster episode known as 'Retaliation'.**

**Need to reiterate: Rated M due to violence, adult situations, language, and other stuffs. If these may offend you, please read no further.**

**Don't own Saints Row - just my OCs and ideas.**

* * *

><p><strong>Being a Saint<strong>

**Chapter 33**

**Episode 3: Retaliation**

**Epilogue**

* * *

><p><strong>Prawn Court, Red Light District, Southern Stilwater<strong>

**Thursday, May 19, 2011, 10:21am**

**Dice's Apartment**

…

Mongrel stood in the bathroom, drying off after his partial shower. Folding the towel neatly over the curtain-rod, he started slowly peeling away the water-resistant medical patches on his side. Due to the size and severity of his wound there, he had to keep it clean without letting it get too wet. _Kind of a stupid contradiction _he thought with a smirk.

He pulled on a pair of black track pants then stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The swelling had gone down and the nasty red around the wound was turning to a flush pink. Some of the stitches had come loose a few days ago and had been sewn again, but for the most part, he had been careful.

He next removed the patch on his left shoulder revealing the wounds there. He'd been burned by the muzzle flash of a handgun at Pilsen over two weeks ago by a near miss, and then five days later during the attack of the Samedi at Club Purgatory, he was actually shot near the _exact same spot_ by another handgun.

He tensed his muscles in his left arm and shoulder, wincing slightly at the dull discomfort of the bullet wounds. There was a slight twinge, but nothing he couldn't deal with. He flexed and tightened the muscles on his side, then, keeping his feet firmly at the floor, he twisted his upper torso right then left. A sharp pain shot up from the large machete wound, indicating it wasn't as healed as he'd like to be.

He applied new, dry bandaging to his side. Though the wound wasn't fully healed, Mongrel could at least walk on his own again – he was finally able to put his full weight on his side without it hurting. The shoulder wounds he left uncovered for now. He was going to have more scarring, but the holes there had sealed nicely.

He nodded as he finished taping the bandage in place at his side then stared at his efforts with a half-smirk. Overall, not a bad job.

"Hello!" a female voice called suddenly from the tiny hallway just outside the bathroom. "Merry the fuck birthday to me!"

Mongrel looked over to see Dice standing in the doorway. She was wearing purple underwear and one of her infamous pink baby-doll tees – this one with a skunk being run over by a purple steamroller bearing a fleur-de-lis symbol on the side of it with the caption: _Life stinks… then the Saints roll your ass_.

"Pardon me?" he asked confused. "Your birthday was last month."

"Yeah, but apparently another present was just wrapped up and left in my bathroom," she laughed as she entered.

"What?"

"Ugh, I meant you," she mumbled as she rolled her eyes, "…half-dressed and looking all yummy." She traced her fingernails lightly from the small of his back and across his right side, ending just above his bellybutton. "Pfft, and _I'm_ supposed to be the dumb one."

"You're not dumb," he muttered as he pulled her close, holding her against him.

"Mmm," she cooed as she rested her face against his chest, taking in the scent of his skin. "Freshly showered… damn, you smell so good." She folded her arms up close to her body and closed her eyes allowing him to hold her, enjoying the feeling. They stayed that way for a long moment.

"When's our thing?" he finally asked.

"Mmph, in a little bit," she grumbled against his flesh before reluctantly pulling away. "Gotta give back the keys to the Bezier a little after noon." She looked past him into the mirror, frowning at her disheveled hair.

"The keys to the Bezier?"

"Artemis is taking over the crew again," she explained. "I ain't gonna be 'boss' anymore. And I heard a rumor that the real Boss has a thing for Beziers. So… you know, it was supposed to be a joke." She shrugged then began picking at her hair as she continued to look at her reflection. "Ugh, what'd I do last night?"

"Hm," Mongrel raised an eyebrow, "Me, I believe."

"Dumbass," she scoffed as she whopped him on the rear. "You know what I meant. Besides…" she captured his gaze in the mirror, "…you liked it."

"Yes, ma'am, whatever you say," he muttered in a shrill voice, withdrawing into himself. Cowering back, he continued teasing her, "I always appreciate whatever attention you give me."

"Oh my Christ," she groused with another roll of her eyes. "Anyone ever accusing me of being a drama-queen has never had to put up with you." Still, she smiled and wrapped her arm around his waist for a quick hug. "Now let me have my shower."

* * *

><p>Dice was brushing her wet hair back as she came into the kitchen.<p>

"Whatcha doin'?" she asked.

"Making breakfast."

"Baby, I would've done that."

"Um, yeah," he frowned. "Choices of burnt toast or dry cereal weren't really what I was looking for today. We were out of milk again."

"Sorry."

"It's okay," he continued as he put on the oven mitts. He reached into the oven, pulled out a cast-iron skillet, and placed it quickly on the stovetop. "I went and got more this morning. Well, that and a few other things."

"This morning?" She put her brush on a side-table. "You went out? Down the steps and everything? Without help?"

"I'm not an invalid, Dice," he said with a smirk as he got two plates from the cabinet. "I just went to Big Al's Grocery less than a block away. I'm fine."

She tried holding back a scowl. "I-I know. It's just that I'm supposed to take care of you."

He came over and gave her a quick peck on the forehead before retrieving a knife to cut their meal into portions.

"And you're doing a great job of it. Now sit and let me feed _you_ for a change."

With a sigh, she did as she was bid. A plate slid in front of her and she stared at the _food_ upon it.

"An omelet?" she queried, unsure.

"A frittata."

She poked at it with the fork he handed her.

"Um, it's green and shit."

"It's a spinach frittata. And yes, there's cheese on top." He noticed her look of uncertainty. "Just try it."

"Whatever." She cut off a little bit and placed it in her mouth, scrunching her face as she chewed. After a moment her eyes widened and she tried a bigger bite.

"So?" Mongrel sat next to her and began eating.

"Well, it's not complete shit," she approved. "Maybe a little salt?"

He nodded and slid the shaker over to her.

"But not that shit-ton you put on everything."

"It's not a shit-ton on everything," she defended. "I don't put any on fruit and cereal and stuff."

He stared pointedly at her.

"Whatever." She sprinkled just a tiny amount on her plate to mollify him and continued eating. "Okay, fine, this isn't bad at all," she mumbled through a mouthful of food, then she grinned. "You may just get to cook all the time."

"As long as you do the dishes afterward," he said returning her grin.

She paused and cocked an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well that part's still up for discussion," she replied with a wink.

* * *

><p><strong>Bavogian Plaza, Red Light District, Stilwater<strong>

**Thursday, May 19, 2011, 12:13pm**

…

Dice looked around the group of Saints that had been assembled in the lowest level of Club Purgatory as Mongrel and she arrived. Loud music was blaring from the radio over by the bar, but she could barely make out the song. There were nearly fifty of her fellow gangbangers together, talking, joking around, and telling stories to each other. She hadn't seen such a large gathering in a while.

The majority of those gathered were from Shaundi's crew: Rory and his boys, Valerie and Shanna, and even Velour and her little ring of prostitutes that doubled as Saints' back-up. CD was in a far corner conversing with Molly and Stella.

There were also members of Carlos' crew in attendance. Stammer's huge frame stood out and with him was Anthony, his second. The well-built military-looking Jared was there as well - Dice'd heard he'd been given the sniper rifle retrieved from the assassin on the rooftop during the Samedi assault – as well as Jared's girlfriend Deeds who was newly released from prison.

"Where's Artemis?" she moaned as she continued down the stairs.

"By the bar," Mongrel responded, pointing through the crowd. "Over there with some more of Pierce's crew."

Dice nodded and tried weaving her way through the thick droves of people. After a moment of frustration, she looked back at Mongrel with a pleading scowl.

He shook his head with a half-smirk and started pushing forward, moving aside anyone in his way.

"Look out, coming through!" Dice yelled with a smile as she followed her own personal people-plow. The trip went much easier.

A moment later and the pair were over by Artemis and the rest of their friends: Chaz, Darcy, Lucia, Dennis, Dominic, and Bert leaning next to the bar with Tonya at his side.

"Lil Sister!" Artemis called out in greeting with a smile upon his face, his arms wide.

"Ugh! Really? First thing?" She shook her head as he hugged her. "You know I hate that nickname."

"Do you?" he responded with a twinkle in his eye and a mischievous grin upon his lips. "I forget that sometimes."

"So what's the deal?" she continued. "What's everyone gathered for?"

"Boss is going to make some form of announcement," Darcy offered.

"And for once…" Artemis interrupted, pointing up to the landing that held the broken angel statue as a loud cheer rose up through the crowd of criminals, "…you're right on time."

Dice looked over and there she was – the Leader of the Saints. The tall woman had her long dark hair pulled tight and held back with a purple hair-band. Next to her was her second, Johnny Gat, and behind them were the rest of the lieutenants – Carlos, Pierce, and Shaundi.

"People!" the Boss held up her hands to silence the crowd as they continued their cheers. "People, listen!" Slowly the crowd got under control and the radio was shut off.

The Boss lowered her arms as she nodded before continuing, scanning over her loyal crew.

"I know the problems we've been experiencing lately," she started. "And I'm not unaware of the suffering you have been going through with these past few hard weeks."

Glances and nods were traded amongst the Saints.

"And of course," the Boss was still making her speech, "…we can't forget those that were taken from us."

Murmurs buzzed through the crowd.

"Let's take a moment to remember them. To remember those we lost." The Boss lowered her head reverently as did several of the assembled crowd as a silence fell over them.

Dice weaved her hand into Mongrel's looking up at his face with a grim smile as he returned her look with a slight nod. She closed her eyes and lowered her head, remembering the faces of Corey and Travis, Barry at the _Brown Baggers_, and even the pictures she'd seen of Jackson and Connie – the two Saints she didn't even know who had died trying to help her in Prawn Court when she was attacked by the pimp named Papa Pants.

She squeezed her fingers tight against his remembering the horrible battle at this very building just twelve days ago when she nearly lost him. She agreed with the Boss – they had suffered a lot.

"And in case any of you fuckers have been off vacationing in Hawaii or some shit this last week, we've not been idle…" They looked up and stared at their leader as she began speaking again.

"War's been declared – full on with these Samedi voodoo fucktards." She took a step forward. "We're stepping up the pressure and taking back what once was Saint's territory. The balance of power is finally shifting." Her eyes narrowed as she continued on.

"Shivington's ours even after the Samedi's weak ass attempt of a push-back. That means half the Projects District is in _our_ hands. More recently, those Samedi fucks decided it was best to try an' make an example outta us here at the mission…"

The Leader of the Saints paused as a few sniggers went through the crowd.

"Yeah, we pushed back and pushed back hard! Thanks to Gat, Shaundi and Carlos here, the Ultor Dome Neighborhood is ours! That'll be bringing in the green!"

Many in the crowd began nodding.

"Then some of our up-and-comers decided to make their bones by taking on Stilwater University and laying waste to the Samedi recruiters tryin' to pick up fresh meat for their gang."

She nodded in the direction of the bar where Dice and her associates were. A swelling pride came over the tiny Saint as many in the crowd turned and glanced her way. There were louder mutters and looks of approval. A wide grin threatened to break out on her face until she actually caught what most of the Saints were saying.

'_Artemis, yeah_' and '_You know it were Artemis and his crew_' and even the occasional '_Bert and his boys, huh?_'

What the hell? Giving the credit to Artemis and Bert? What did those punks know? Instead of a grin, a low pout worked its way onto her lips.

"Whatever," she harrumphed as she crossed her arms in frustration.

"And for those who haven't heard yet, Elysium Fields is ours now as well thanks to the return of…" Their Leader paused dramatically, "Mr. Kind."

A hushed wave flowed over the crowd followed by low whispers. Brief snippets could be heard: '_Mr. Kind'_ '_the Stilwater Devil'_ and '_the Saints' Boogeyman'_.

Dice shook her head at them. Fucking posers is what they were. Mr. Kind was cool and he helped the Saints. Couldn't they see that?

She looked around, trying to spy him - she thought for sure he'd be there. Without his advice she may never have been able to have the courage to ask the Boss to let her help in the retaliation against the Samedi; she may never have been able to power through the attack at Stilwater University. She owed him as much as she owed Artemis and she wanted to thank him, wanted to show her appreciation somehow.

"Now we own more than them," the Boss beamed. "With Bavogian Plaza, Pleasantview, Frat Row, and even Old Stilwater here… yeah."

"How much they still got, Boss?" Anthony called out. "What'll we still got to take to get rid of them?"

"Well, Pierce and me took down their latest shipment of drugs they were delivering via helicopter, so they're hurting for money," she replied. "Territory wise they still have Prawn Court, Sunnyvale Gardens and Sunsinger, as well as the entire Factories District taken from the Brotherhood – Pilsen, The Mills, and Black Bottom. They're still formidable enough to give us problems."

Glances of concern mingled with surprise went back and forth between the Saints. The Samedi just never seemed to run out of territory.

"So, we're gonna be smart about this, ya hear me? They still got numbers on us and they still somehow have outside money coming in." She stepped up to the very edge of the landing. "So we're gonna build for now."

Behind her, her Lieutenants nodded – seems they were in favor of the idea.

"We'll be buying up businesses and start raking in the cash. We're gonna send out recruiters of our own at the University and elsewhere. In a few weeks we're gonna have another canonizing – get some fresh blood ourselves. We're gonna build up our strength. And then…" She paused once more. "…we're gonna bring those fuckers to their knees!"

Shouts echoed throughout the club.

"Hell yeah!"

"Fuck'em up!"

"It's our time!"

And above it all, her eyes blazing and her arms held high once more, stood the Leader of the Saints, smiling down at them.

* * *

><p>Dice, Artemis, and the others were chatting near the bar about what the Boss had just said – an actual plan was in place and it seemed as if there was a chance that the Saints could beat the Sons of Samedi. They almost didn't notice as Pierce and Shaundi walked up to them.<p>

"Pierce!" welcomed Artemis, the first to notice the Lieutenants' approach. He offered his hand as he smiled wide. "Things are looking up."

"They are, man," Pierce agreed with a shake of his head. "Gotta admit it. Didn't think shit'd be goin' our way this quick, but it is. You ready to be back in the fight?" He took Artemis's hand in his own.

"Yeah, the Boss is happy," Shaundi added. "Velour's been made a crew leader. Some of her girls are going to fill out her crew, so we won't be stretched so thin."

Pierce glanced over and nudged her.

"What? Oh, right." The pretty Lieutenant with the dreadlocks reached into her rear pocket and pulled out a wad of cash.

She looked over at the short blonde girl.

"Dice right?" she asked.

"Um, yeah?" The short Saint looked quizzically at the two higher ranking Saints, slight concern on her face. "Am-am I in trouble?"

"Pssh, no," Shaundi waved her off. "Just giving you your share of the pay-out for the University. Sorry, it can't be more but the Boss gets her cut first, y'know?"

She counted out three thousand dollars and handed it over to the tiny Saint who took it with wide eyes.

"Now that's for your crew, too, okay?" she explained as she brushed a loose dread out of her face. "You divide it however you want, but they ought to get something, y'know?"

"Holy fuck!" exclaimed Dice. "I was just thinking it'd be like three or four hundred bucks or something! This…" she stared at the money in her hand, her grip tight. "I mean hell, even if I split it four ways to the people that helped, that'll be like five hundred bucks each!"

"Seven hundred fifty dollars each," Mongrel corrected quietly as he leaned over. "If you divide it evenly among you and your crew."

"Holy…" she exclaimed again, glancing over at him. "Are you fucking serious? Hell yeah, it's gonna be even. Couldn't have done it without their help."

"Okay, now the rest," Pierce continued.

"Shit, here it comes," complained Bert. He shifted uncomfortably on the barstool and held his stomach where he had been shot during the push-back at Shivington ten days ago.

"Hmph," Pierce fixed his gaze with a grimace. "It's not what you think, man. Okay you all know what went down with Tommy Deller and his crew – they won't be coming back to the Red Light District anytime soon."

"Yes, we've heard about that," Mongrel growled with narrowed eyes, their brilliant blue becoming slightly duller for a brief moment.

"He's gonna be over at Frat Row for a while," Pierce went on. "And with Corey's crew gone, well shit, we're hurting for people. We need to up our patrols. Artemis is taking back his crew, but I need another crew to fill in."

"Geez, you take too long to explain everything, Pierce," Shaundi interrupted then she glanced over at Dice with a twinkle in her eye. "The Boss wants you, isn't that cool? She says you did well at the University and that you'd make a good crew chief. Whaddaya say?"

Dice blinked at the sudden announcement, unsure she had actually heard correctly.

"What?"

"Yeah," Pierce confirmed. "I'll admit you done good at Stilwater U. I mean I had some serious doubts." He rubbed the back of his neck as a sheepish look crossed his face. "But ya pulled it off. Hell, just as good as anyone else coulda." He shrugged. "So you wanna lead a crew?"

Dice glanced around at the others for a brief moment…

Then a huge smile split her face as she squealed loudly and kicked her feet. The sound surprised even her.

"Wow. That came out a lot more girly then I meant it to. Damn. I'm gonna hafta turn in my _Thug_ card now." She said it with a serious tone, but the tiny Saint was still grinning wide.

"Good for you, Lil Sister!"Artemis congratulated her. "It's about damn time!"

"Well done," added Darcy.

"Ha-ha!" Lucia laughed as she hugged Dice solidly. "_Mi hermana reina,_ yeah, she's stepping up now for sure!"

"Well, there goes the neighborhood," Bert quipped with a mock scowl, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

Chaz patted her on the back as did Dominic and Dennis. The only one that seemed quiet was Mongrel.

"Isn't that awesome, baby?" Dice asked him.

"But now you'll be…" His brow furrowed as he looked down at her. "I mean I was worried enough when it was just a temporary thing."

"No need," she replied with a wink. "I'll make sure I take you on my crew. You'll be my second."

"That's not what…" he shook his head as concern shown on his features. "I mean, I don't know if you should really-"

"No, sorry," interjected Pierce. "You need to earn your crew. I mean yeah, you did well, but you still need more respect in the gang."

"Oh?"

The Lieutenant went on. "You're allowed to take a couple of soldiers with you, but it's gonna be some of the newbs we're gonna recruit from the next canonizing. You have to earn established Saints like Mongrel here." He pulled out another wad of cash and handed it to her. "You need yourself a car and some new clothes. It's only a thousand – I know you ain't gonna get much better than a junker Zimos for that, but still."

Dice was nodding so hard she was afraid her head was going to fall off – everything seemed to be just happening so fast.

"I understand, boss, and thank you!"

"Just don't let me down now, you feel me?" Pierce asked sternly, but the corner of his mouth still twisted up in a grin.

"I won't," the little Saint agreed. Her thoughts were already turning to getting some new clothes – she needed Spade's advice on that. Hah! Wait until she told Spade what just happened!

One final thought ran through her head. She also needed a gift – a special gift for a special friend of hers.

* * *

><p><strong>Bavogian Plaza, Red Light District, Stilwater<strong>

**Club Koi**

**Thursday, May 19, 2011, 11:06pm**

…

Dyson laid a fifty on the small side bar in the corner as he retrieved his glass.

"Keep the change," he muttered lowly to the bartender who merely smiled back.

He turned and took a sip from his drink – a 'Winds of War' martini. The name seemed appropriate for the current time.

He moved over to the outside of the rail separating the larger central bar and the dance-floor from the rest of the club. He narrowed his eyes even though he wore his Aviators. The strobing and pulsing lights of the dance-floor hurt his eyes. The odors of alcohol, cheap perfumes and thick cigarette smoke assailed his sense of smell. And the throbbing heavy bass beat blaring through the large speakers was giving him a headache.

Tamara had once quipped that he was as much fun as a dead puppy and he had to agree. The club scene was not for him. The laughing, the whooping, the partying, the music, the _dancing_ none of it appealed to him. He understood the desire of some people to unwind, to relieve the stress of their everyday lives. He just didn't understand _this_.

Maybe it was the wound he received a few days ago at Elysium Fields – a few pellets from a lucky shotgun blast had caught him under the left arm. Nothing really. The pellets were already removed and the wound was bandaged nicely and on the mend, but it was still sore.

Maybe it was the fact that he was on his fourth drink in less than an hour. The Boss had called him and asked him to come to Club Koi and celebrate with her and the gang. As usual he did as he was asked, but he truly didn't see the reason. He didn't 'party' as it were.

Maybe it was the fact that he was a psychotic killer. He'd already scanned the area and learned the locations of all the exits. The three bouncers carried no real weapons on their persons – save the large Hispanic one. All he had was a taser. The security here was pathetic. He'd be able to kill most of these people without even a second thought.

He sighed deeply as he leaned against the rail. Dead puppy indeed.

He gazed across the dance-floor where the others were laughing – an outsider looking in. Tamara was with her boyfriend Trey. The Boss was talking with her Lieutenants. Johnny had managed to convince Aisha to sneak out of her house (disguised of course). Dyson chuckled to himself. Gat, as murderous as he was, even knew how to have fun.

He downed his drink quickly with a grimace – perhaps it'd be better if he just left.

"Hey!" someone called out, a slight slur to her voice. "It is you! I was-was hopin' ta fin' ya!"

He looked over and saw a short pretty girl wearing a purple silk shirt and form-fitting grey canvas pants with a matching purse. Her black bowler hat with the purple band was currently tilted to the left. It was that little girl from the Hideout, the one that had fought the Saint named Tommy and his crew that he had later banned. Dice was her name if he remembered correctly.

"I've been hopin', er, lookin' for ya," she slurred again. She'd obviously been drinking.

"Oh? For what purpose?"

"To thank you," she smiled and then pointed down at her name brand purple and black athletic shoes. "Like my new kicks? Jus' got'em t'day. Along with all my new clothes and stuffs."

"Mm, nice," he said bemused. "You want to thank me for your new kicks? I don't believe I got them for you."

"I got promoted and lots of money," she went on. "And then we partied and have been drinkin', well, I been drinkin' cuz people been buyin' cuz I got promoted with lots of money but didn't spend any of it 'cept for my new clothes and my new kicks which I got cuz I been promoted with my new money." She nodded and took a breath. "So, thank you."

"I'm certain that makes sense," he responded, "but I've had about four drinks now and I'm not quite sure why you're thanking me."

"F-four, pssh!" she stumbled a bit, "I had like seven or maybe nine different things already."

Nine? The girl was barely half his mass and was mixing drinks? He was surprised she was still conscious let alone talking to him.

"But I'm a crew leader now, see?"

He nodded.

"Cuz a what ya said. What ya tol' me."

"And what, pray tell, did I tell you?" he inquired.

"Ya said to make the situation my own. I needed to own it. And then to destroy my enemies utterly." She grinned. "And I did utterly kill them. Pop-pop! Capped his ass."

"Well, um, congratulations are in order for you then." He tilted his empty glass toward her. He did remember telling her that and was surprised she had listened. "I'm sincerely glad you succeeded."

"So here." The girl reached into her purse and pulled out a small thin giftbox from _Impressions_, the high end clothing store. She held it out to him. "I got this for you."

His eyes widened in surprise and he leaned back a little to stand upright. He glanced at the box then to the girl's face. He blinked then looked at the box again.

"What-what is this?" he asked, uncertainty in his voice.

"A present. I got it, uh, for you," she answered slowly. "That was okay? Right? It was to thank you."

He reached a tentative hand forward and took the box, opening it carefully. Inside were a pair of expensive black leather gloves, similar to driving gloves.

"Ya didn't have any that I e-ever saw, and I knew ya'd need to shoot with'em, so the lady said ya'd need ones that would be subble… sub... subble…"

"Supple," he corrected.

"Yeah, that's it!" she replied and tried to snap her fingers but couldn't. "It means soft an' shit."

An odd feeling overcame him for a moment, one he hadn't experienced for a long time. A present. A gift. He couldn't fathom it. The girl had actually given him a gift, but…

"Why?"

"Why what?" she asked, confusion on her face. "It's a thank you gift and you know…" She paused and smiled up at him. "…you're my friend." She leaned in and gave him a close hug around his waist.

He leaned back and tensed at her sudden motion, unsure of what to do. Then, slowly he relaxed as he realized that she wasn't trying to attack him, wasn't trying to injure him. She didn't seem afraid of him at all – it was a _unique_ sensation to say the least.

She pulled back and smiled at him again. No fear, only compassion and friendship on her face. She didn't want anything from him, didn't expect anything from him – she was just being _nice_ to him.

The situation reminded him of a time long past, back when gangs such as the Vice Kings and Los Carnales still roamed the streets. The girl's actions reminded him of another young woman who once accepted him without question, who had shown him tenderness. A young woman he so desperately missed.

Without realizing it he started leaning towards the girl… towards those bright hazel eyes, that innocent smile. Her openness and passion were a bright flame that drew him in – her genuine compassion a beacon that enticed his darkness. He leaned closer…

And then his lips were on hers.

He was surprisingly gentle as he pressed forward, kissing her. He wrapped an arm about her midsection pulling her against him, while the other cradled the back of her head. The girl obliged him, parting her lips and allowing him entry even as she pressed up into him, deepening the kiss. Her hand came up and she lightly brushed her fingertips across his cheek.

She was soft, tender, sweet… something so dissimilar from the way his existence seemed to be. A dark hunger stirred and he lusted for that softness… he wanted to steal her away and possess her. He became more forceful as he drew her closer still.

"Mm, wait!" the girl managed to choke out as she pulled away from his grasp. "No, I'm sorry!"

The dark man stood up straight again and cleared his throat.

"You don't need to apologize…"

"Y-yes I do," the girl moved back, her cheeks bright pink. "I-I'm sorry. You were tryin' ta be my friend and I get so fuckin' stupid and overly-friendly when I drink t-too much." She rubbed her temple angrily as she berated herself. "I'm sorry – look you're hot as fuck an' well, yeah, but I'm with somebody - I got a guy now, a-a boyfriend. We jus' got back together and I care s-so very much for'em, ya know? I don't want to mess things up with him and I just shouldn't of done that."

"No, it's not your fault," Dyson moved forward to placate the obviously distraught girl. "It wasn't you at all. I was the one who initiated…"

"Is there a problem here?" asked a smooth, heavy voice.

Dyson stepped back as he looked up at the newcomer. He was a tall, lean young man, about six-foot-three, with a clean-shaven face, blonde hair, and brilliant blue eyes.

"We're fine," he growled at the younger man. "Be about your business."

"No, this… this is him," the short girl moved over to the young blonde man. "This is my guy… this is my Blake." She leaned against the young man's chest and looked up into his face. "We're okay, baby. We was just talking." She looked back over at Dyson. "This is my friend, Mr. Kind."

"Pleased to meet you," the newcomer named Blake said. His words were courteous, but his eyes had no friendliness in them. He held his arm about the girl's shoulders protectively.

The gesture and the young man's genuine concern for the girl were not lost upon the killer.

"Ah, the knight gallant," the man in black uttered as he tried so very hard to keep his lips from curling into a sneer. "How appropriate."

He glanced over at the bar near the dance-floor where the Boss was chatting with young Carlos.

"Yes," he continued as he turned back to the young couple once again. "That does seem to be the particular flavor of the week."

He smirked dryly.

"Well, this evening's festivities have been entertaining, but I believe I will call it a night."

"What? Wait," the girl stepped away from her boyfriend for a moment. "You can sit with us and hang out if you want. My friends'd love ta meet ya. At least, I think they would."

The dark man snickered lightly as he addressed her. "Thank you for the invitation, but I must be going, my dear Dice." He bowed slightly in her direction. "Congratulations once again on your promotion. And thank you very much for the present."

She smiled at him.

"And you," he turned his attention to the Saint named Blake. "She is a remarkable young woman."

"I'm well aware, thank you," the young man replied.

"Do be careful with her then," the killer leaned slightly forward. "Or else someone dark and perhaps a touch… un-_**Kind**_… may just snatch her away from you." His eyes flashed briefly at the word 'Kind' as he made a quick grasping motion with his hand.

"I'd like to see that person try," the youth challenged, the blue in his eyes seemed somewhat duller than before.

Dyson chuckled darkly as he brushed past them and made his way out of the club.

…

…

Leaving through the back exit, Dyson paused and took a deep breath. The night air was surprisingly cool and crisp, invigorating him and clearing his head.

Holding the _Impressions_ giftbox, he momentarily contemplated throwing it and its contents away in the nearby dumpster. People just didn't give him presents. But something gave him pause and instead he took the gloves out and tried them on.

They fit perfectly.

"Like a glove," he grimaced at his own bad joke.

He noticed a small slip of paper fall to the ground and snatched it up. It was a gift receipt – in case the gloves didn't fit, in case he wanted to return them.

His brow furrowed.

_Why?_ he'd asked the girl.

_You know…_ she had replied. _You're my friend._

He smirked to himself as he started walking solemnly back to his loft in Little Shanghai, about two hours away on foot.

Did a creature as twisted as he have actual friends? Did he even deserve them despite everything he'd done?

At least one young woman thought he did.

Perhaps, just perhaps… he wasn't the horrific monster the world thought him to be.

"But then," he remarked sarcastically as he continued walking home, "where would the fun be in that?"

* * *

><p><strong>Frat Row, Stilwater University District, Southern Stilwater<strong>

**Friday, May 20, 2011, 12:27am**

**...**

Three figures stood by a dark grey Status Quo parked on the lowest tier of the parking lot by the northern docks. The figure in the middle, a man dressed in a black suit coat, black shirt, and a green tie, looked across the waters north to the Hangman's Wharf, the southern half of the Alcatraz-like island of Stilwater Prison.

"A car is coming Mr. San-Pierre," stated the man on the far left, a well-built man of Indian descent who also wore a black suit - his bodyguard, Jaqual.

The man on the right, dressed in a black and grey chauffeur's outfit, withdrew an NR4 pistol from his holster.

"Let's us not act in haste, Joshua," San-Pierre muttered as he raised a cautionary hand towards his driver.

A purple and black trimmed Capshaw made its made slowly down the ramp to the lowest tier, finally coming to a stop five parking spaces away. Four young men dressed in various outfits stepped out, but they all had one thing in common… each of them wore, in some location on their persons, the same shade of purple as was on their car… Saints Purple.

One of the new arrivals, a solidly built Mexican kid, was unknown to San-Pierre, but he did recognize the others. In particular the leader of the foursome, a skinny blonde boy, pale-skinned and two inches shy of six feet. The blonde boy greeted him.

"Mr. San-Pierre!"

"Ah, Thomas Deller, or…" the Samedi Lieutenant paused a moment, "do you prefer Tommy? I forget."

"Tommy's fine sir," the young Saint replied.

"Holy!" the Mexican kid gasped, his eyes wide. "Dude, you know who that is?"

"Hey, it's cool man," Tommy glanced back at him. "Yeah, I told you there was a way to get back at them." He turned forward again. "And Mr. San-Pierre is it."

"You said you had news, Tommy?" the Samedi queried. "What information do you have for me?"

"Well, sir, it's like this…" Tommy looked down sheepishly. "I, uh, got thrown outta of the Saints Hideout."

"We all did," agreed a dark-eyed youth with a goatee whose nose was bandaged. Gibson was his name. "Thanks to Mr. Kind."

"Fuck that," grumbled the last figure, a black-haired kid named Bobby. "It was that little cunt's fault. Dice, the little bitch, needs to get what's coming to her."

"Gentlemen, please," San-Pierre held up his hands before looking directly at Tommy. "You asked me to meet you. You said you had information for me. So I come here, wasting my time and the information you give me is that you've been thrown out." He stepped forward and his eyes took on a dark look. "How exactly are you of any use to me now?"

"Well, we're not thrown out of the Saints, sir," Tommy explained quickly, sweating a little. "The deal you made with us a while back… it-it's still good. We, uh, just got relocated… here, actually."

San-Pierre took another step forward, his countenance grim.

"I ask you again, how does that help me?"

"Well, for one thing, I got a new boy here who wants to help," he indicated the Mexican kid. "His name's Rico, he used to be part of Bert's crew under Pierce."

"Used to be?"

"Uh, yeah," the blonde Saint grinned meekly. "He was uh, thrown out as well."

"Mr. San-Pierre," Jaqual moved forward. "Please, allow me to remove this garbage from the city. It will only take a moment." His hand moved to the large buckle on his belt.

"Not yet, my friend," the Samedi replied. "Let's us hear what other 'good news' our little spy has to tell us." He turned his gaze toward Tommy. "Go on."

"Well," the blonde boy swallowed uncomfortably. "Um, the Saints are gonna be recruiting soon. Looking for new blood. And they're gonna be looking to get it from the campus area. Maybe, uh, maybe you can slip in some people of your own. Get'em canonized and have a few of your people in from the ground up."

"Hm," he contemplated as he rubbed his chin. "That's not a bad idea. Continue."

"I'll also have more access to the distribution of the Loa Dust produced by the Saints here," Tommy explained. "Shaundi's crew isn't nearly as organized as Pierce's. I can slip you a little of the product… maybe even a little extra cash."

San-Pierre grinned. "More product and cash is always nice. But don't overdo it. I'd rather have a small continuous supply as opposed to a larger one that gets noticed right away and cut off."

The young Saint nodded in agreement.

The Samedi Lieutenant inhaled sharply then stared at the traitorous Saints.

"Well, now, gentlemen. What is it I can do for you then?"

"Rico here," Tommy glanced at the Mexican kid. "He's having problems with Bert, one of Pierce's guys. Fucker threw him out and now he wants that fat prick hurting."

"Can you do that?" Rico asked. "Make'm suffer? I'll do whatever, man, I ain't gonna rise any further in the Saints, that's for sure."

"Only if you sell your soul to me and the spirits of the Loa," San-Pierre chuckled darkly with a flourish.

"Um…" the Mexican boy seemed uncertain.

"Hah, I'm just… fucking with you… as they say," San-Pierre grinned. "You cast your lot with me - give _me_ your loyalty and we'll see what we can do about this Bert person."

"What about the others?" Bobby asked. "Dice and Mr. Kind? We can't let them diss us like that."

San-Pierre narrowed his eyes. "This… Mr. Kind. Even I have heard of him. I believe he's in a whole other league from what you boys may suspect. I don't think me going after him is the best course of action."

"But he's helping the Saints!" Gibson offered. "I mean he's your enemy too."

"Oh, I didn't say he wouldn't be dealt with," San-Pierre responded. "I just said that it wouldn't be me. The General's bringing in special help to deal with him."

Tommy nodded then inquired, "What do you want us to do, then, sir? You want us to still try and keep tabs on Artemis and his crew?"

"No," the Samedi sighed. "The young man named Artemis is no longer of any interest to me. He was merely a pawn that I was planning on using against a rival of mine… who now, it seems, is an ally."

Tommy nodded again. "Okay, sir. I mean he was hurt but he's getting better again. I think he's going to be taking over his crew once more."

"Yeah," Gibson agreed. "Don't really know why he left though. Fucker's still the baddest ass shot even with one arm hurt. Motherfucker's ambidextrous."

"What was that?" San-Pierre asked as he leaned forward. "What did you say?"

"Gibby said that Artemis is a bad-ass shot, plus he's ambidextrous."

"Ambidextrous?" the Samedi's eyes narrowed.

"Yeah," Tommy explained. He held up one arm, then mimicked the motion with the other. "It means he's just as good with one hand as the other."

"Like a mirror, like a reflection," San-Pierre whispered. He leaned back as a memory of an earlier conversation from just two weeks ago played out in his mind's eye.

Knickers, the attractive blonde-haired young protégé of the Magic Man had stopped playing her steel-pans. She'd fallen to her knees as San-Pierre and the Magic Man approached her. She'd looked up at him as he drew near and warned him:

"_The man of reflection…"_ She'd held out one hand, fingers spread apart… and then the other, fingers similarly spread. She slowly moved her hands together. _"The mirrored man… the man of reflection… one side like the other… he will ruin your plans… unless you kill him first…"_

A dark chill wound down his spine. His eyes widened in surprise as his skin visibly paled, even in the dim illumination shed by the parking lot lights.

It couldn't be true… could it? After all, he didn't believe in such nonsense.

"Mr. San-Pierre?" Jaqual asked, concern in his voice. "Are you alright?" An angry look crossed his face as he turned towards the four young spies. "What have you done to him? This is your fault!"

Even Joshua, the chauffer, realized something was amiss and pointed his pistol at the traitorous Saints.

"Whoa, the fuck?" Tommy held up a hand defensively as he tried to back away. "We didn't do anything!"

"No, no, Jaqual!" San-Pierre ordered suddenly, finally able to compose himself. "It's alright." Then he turned to Tommy. "However, our agreement needs to change. Forget what I said earlier about this Artemis individual. I want to know everything you can find out about him. Keep close tabs on him."

"Um, it'll be hard since we're not allowed in the Red Light District anymore, but we'll try." Tommy grimaced as he continued. "He's just about Pierce's right-hand man, but I'll see what I can find out for you."

"Yes, well, if he were removed from power, then you'd be one step higher in the food chain, no?"

"Yeah," the traitor said with a shake of his head. "I guess that's right."

_And if this 'man of reflection' were gone_, San-Pierre concluded as his thoughts turned dark, _then he wouldn't be able to ruin my plans._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hm, and for a moment things seemed to be going so well for our little heroes/criminals.**

**Well, I guess we're just gonna have wait to find out what terrible situations will be brewing in the future. **

**Thanks for reading guys!**


	34. The Legend of the Grasshopper Mouse

**Hey, back again finally. **

**Also, this is my second Dedication Chapter - this time to a trio of my fellow writers known collectively as _johnnysgirls_. Individually they are _shadow182angel_, _DoubleH19_, and _HeartWritingM_. **

**The title of this chapter refers to a conversation they once had regarding what each of their Boss OCs would be if they were an animal. One was a mustang, one a cobra, and the last a bear (I think). Anyway, somehow during the conversation (of which I found out about later) they determined that my OC Dice (who isn't even a Boss) would be a grasshopper mouse. What's a Grasshopper Mouse? Check it out on Wikipedia (or google or whatever) or you can just read the following.**

**Anyway, this is for you, _johnnysgirls_ for all the fun we've had over the past year writing, reading and just making this a blast. Thanks for everything!**

* * *

><p><strong>Being a Saint<strong>

**Chapter 34**

**...**

**Interlude #2:**** The Legend of the Grasshopper Mouse**

**Featuring:**** Mongrel and Dice**

* * *

><p><strong>Bavogian Plaza, Red Light District, Southern Stilwater<strong>

**Monday, May 30, 2011, 10:33am**

* * *

><p>Mongrel accompanied Dice as she marched along the streets into Bavogian Plaza at a quick pace. They had been following the el-tracks above that crossed through the Red Light District and were now preparing to diverge north. Of the three neighborhoods that comprised the Red Light District (Bavogian Plaza, Rebadeaux, and Prawn Court), only Bavogian Plaza was controlled by the Third Street Saints.<p>

Rebadeaux was in the hands of the Ronin. With no open hostilities to the yellow-clothed gang, that didn't seem likely to change anytime soon.

Prawn Court, where Dice's apartment was located, was held by the Sons of Samedi. This caused Mongrel no end of concern for the safety of his traveling companion. He didn't like the fact that she actually lived in an enemy gang's territory. To be fair though, when she originally acquired the apartment, the Saints and the Samedi had not been at odds with each other. It helped explain, however, why Dice didn't normally wear purple as a prominent color when she was out.

He glanced over at her. She was currently attired in grey cargo pants (with her pink crowbar slid through a beltloop) and one of her infamous pink baby-doll shirts. This one had a black silhouette of a little girl in pigtails holding a bloody knife with the caption: _Will you play with me?_

He smiled at the thought of having her in his life.

He had finally decided to act on the advice of Alice (aka Spade) and ask Dice out only to have their conversation interrupted by a surprise attack from the Sons of Samedi at the Saints' Hideout. He'd been grievously injured, but despite his wounds, he'd been lucky. Dice had been there for him when he was hurt. She'd been there for him when he fell. She'd been there when he needed her the most.

She'd taken care of him, helped him recover and now finally they'd gotten back together… after everything life and the city of Stilwater seemed to throw at them, he and his little Dice, his… Maggie.

Every one of his friends always referred to him as Mongrel, his gang name, except for Alice and, of course, for Dice. She'd always called him by his real name, Blake, and well, he'd wanted to call her by her name. It was stupid, perhaps - a foolishly romantic idea.

He knew she wasn't too keen on Margaret – too proper sounding she had always said. Margie just sounded too old. But Maggie seemed just right.

He remembered asking her just a few days ago if it'd be okay for him to call her Maggie – at least when they were together… when they were alone. She looked up at him and her nose had done that cute crinkle thing it did whenever she really thought about something. She had nodded at the suggestion with that amazing smile of hers.

He smirked at the memory. Maggie did fit her well… the name was cute… it was adorable - just like she was.

His reminiscing was suddenly interrupted by the object of his affection: the little five-foot-two dark blonde girl standing next to him with a puss on her lips and a hand on her hips.

"Fuck this utter fucking bullshit!" she groused loudly.

"What's wrong now?" he sighed.

"This shit-fuck traffic!" She looked on as a Compton drove past and two minivans were coming down the road – one from each direction.

They were currently in front of Club Koi and trying to cross to the next block north. As a Phoenix and then a Capshaw turned onto the street heading toward them, Dice's impatience finally got the best of her.

"Fukkit!" she yelled, then she bolted into the street making a bee-line for the opposite sidewalk.

"Dice, wait!" Mongrel shouted, trying to grab the girl, but she was too quick.

"C'mon!" she called back over her shoulder, intent on her destination.

He scowled and ran after her. He made it past the double yellow line and was almost to the other curb when a lance of pain shot through his left side. He doubled over within three feet of the sidewalk, gripping his lower torso.

"Oh shit, Blake!" Dice cried. She reached out into the street and pulled him onto the sidewalk just as a blue sedan whipped by. "Holy fuck! Your wound? It's still hurting you?"

"I'm alright," he grimaced. He slowly stood and his hand balled into a fist, angry that he still wasn't healed all the way. "Damn it! You've got to be kidding me!"

"I'm sorry," she said, holding onto his arm to steady him.

"It's not you. It's been over three weeks! I should be better by now."

"Baby, no, I wasn't thinking," Dice tried to mollify him, concern on her face. He started to protest again, but she pressed on. "Remember baby, you almost… almost died on me. Please, you were hurt pretty bad and it hasn't even been a month, but you're already doing so well now. Shit, we never took you to a hospital or even a real doctor and… well, here you are anyway." She hugged him on his uninjured side.

He felt his anger melt away as she held onto him. Problems seemed to vanish whenever she did so. After a moment she pulled back and looked up at him.

"Better?" she asked.

He answered with a smile and a quick brush of his fingers through her hair – the incident already forgotten.

"Good, we'll go slower then," she stated then started leading him across the empty parking lot in front of them.

"I just don't understand why you're in such a hurry."

"Hurry?" She stopped and looked up at him again as she let go of his arm. She paused, being purposefully dramatic, and hunched her shoulders. With a sinister smile she began wringing her hands. "Baby, today starts… _the Legend of the Grasshopper Mouse_."

"Dear god," he moaned with a roll of his eyes. "This again?"

One of Dice's favorite habits was to stay up and watch late night television. She'd recently become enamored with a series of nature pieces done on the Mammal World Network. In particular was a segment shown last Saturday around 3am that featured a six inch rodent known as the grasshopper mouse – a species of carnivorous rodent which dined on insects (such as grasshoppers), worms, scorpions, snakes, and even other mice.

Dice was excited as hell when she saw it, claiming '_The grasshopper mouse is this cute, fluffy little thing that's just out for a stroll in the desert one night, being adorable. It sees a scorpion fighting a giant poison centipede. It's all, "Oh hey, whaddup?" then lets out a FURIOUS BATTLE CRY__ AND FLIPS THE FUCK OUT, __ripping the arms and legs and stingers off cuz its immune to most venoms and __eating__ those mothers. It's one of the baddest-assed little fuckers out there!_'

Of course, she decided at that moment that she just _had_ to have a tattoo of the 'little fucker' to show to the world how tough small things could really be. She made plans to head to the tattoo shop in Bavogian Plaza – an adventure they were on today.

"I hope they do custom jobs," she wondered aloud, bringing him back to the present.

"Well," he queried thoughtfully, "did you bring a picture for them to work off of?"

"Better'n that, babe!" she exclaimed excitedly and pulled out her new cell phone. She received it shortly after being promoted to a crew leader under Pierce. Unlike her other phones which were constantly getting lost, she managed to hang onto this one, even going so far as remembering to bring it with her nearly every time she went out.

She touched the screen and highlighted some icons, finally pulling up a picture. She turned the phone around and showed him the screen upon which was a short red-grey rodent.

"See?"

"Mmm," Mongrel nodded. "You going for realistic or stylized?"

"Er…" she hesitated, then quieter she asked, "Stylized mean cartoony-like?"

"It can," he agreed.

"Then yep!" she grinned. "I'm gonna have'em stylize the shit outta my grasshopper mouse tattoo! And of course, it's gotta be purple!"

"Oh, of course," he replied with a grin of his own before turning his attention to her phone. "Pretty nice piece of technology. Must've come from _DDT Unlimited_."

"I know, right?" Dice blurted out enthusiastically. "Check out all this shit – it can take pictures, has internet access, has a GPS, some sort of calendar thingy, uh, I think it plays music, too." She looked down at her phone with pride.

She scrolled through some other icons on the screen.

"And look! Ninja-fruit killing games and a version of Zombie Uprising!" Her smile broadened. "Shit, there's lists of cars wanted by some of the chop-shops allied with the Boss and even for targets that the Boss wants killed."

"What?" Mongrel seemed troubled at the latter item. "Like a hit list?"

"Yeah! There's an app for that!"

Mongrel paused before replying.

"Um, that's rather disturbing…"

"It's not like that, babe; these people aren't innocents," Dice explained as she pulled up a quick dossier folder. She showed him some of the thumbnails representing targets. "They're all criminals or less than honest assholes trying to take a bite outta the Boss's pie, y'know?"

He pursed his lips.

"Let's not dwell on that," he remarked. "We'll just get your tattoo done. How long you think it'll take?"

"Hm, well the one on my belly…" She lifted the bottom of her shirt up while pulling down the top of her pants. The action exposed her lower left belly right above her hip and the tattoo there: a pair of flaming dice, one showing six pips, the other displaying one pip. "Yeah, this took about four hours."

She glanced up to see him staring intently at the bare area.

"Um, hello…?" She let her shirt drop back down and waved her hand in front of his face.

"What?" he blinked then looked her in the eyes. "Uh, yes, I agree… it is a nice tattoo."

"Huh? I didn't ask you that," she began then a smirk formed on her lips. "Oh my Christ, you perv… you were leering at me!"

"I… no, I mean…" He cleared his throat with an embarrassed look on his face.

"Pssh, like I mind if my hot-ass boyfriend gives me lustful looks." She laughed as she flipped her hair dramatically. "But anyway, the new one is only gonna be half the size with a lot less detail. Hopefully, it'll take less than two hours." She nodded. "So let's get this puppy… er, mousey… done then."

* * *

><p>The <em>Rusty's Needle<em> in Bavogian Plaza was a tattoo parlor under control of the Leader of the Third Street Saints. At least one, more often two, of their fellow gangbangers were guarding the front entrance of nearly every business owned or allied with the gang. There was only one girl outside the entrance, Mongrel noticed. Wearing a tie-dyed tee and chatting away on her cell phone, she was obviously not a member of their gang.

Dice had mentioned that with the recent losses of so many gang-members that the Saints were spread thin - with a focus put more on patrols than guarding their interests. Therefore, it was vital for injured members such as Bert and even Mongrel himself to be active again as soon as possible. It was something he'd hoped he was ready for, but his damnable injury just didn't seem to want to heal all the way.

"Yeah buddy!" Dice cheerfully exclaimed as they entered, noticing there was only one customer being worked on; there wouldn't be a wait.

"Thanks for coming to Rusty's Needle," greeted the girl behind the register. She was tall and pretty but a bit on the thin side. Her head was shaved to a close peach-fuzz length, barely hinting at the natural dark color of her hair, and she had a chain that attached her left earring with a similar ring in her left nostril. Her eyes widened a bit as she looked at Mongrel.

"Well, hi!" she cooed appreciatively at him as she shifted her weight to one hip. "Now you look like someone who needs a spinal tattoo. My name's Roxxie and I'll be glad to work on you myself."

"Um, no," growled Dice as she stepped forward and narrowed her eyes at the taller girl. "He doesn't need anything. I'm getting the flash, not him."

"Humph. Too bad," she muttered with a hint of disappointment. "I'll get Mindy for you then." She moved to the side hallway and poked her head into a back room.

"Fucking crack-whore," Dice grumbled under her breath.

"I doubt she's an addict," Mongrel retorted quietly.

"Skinny as she is?" Dice crossed her arms with a frown. "Hell, I look fat compared to her."

"Seriously…?"

She cocked her head and glared at him. "When you can cut a piece of paper on her hip-bone, the bitch needs to eat a sandwich."

Mongrel just shook his head as another girl came over to them. She was shorter with a mop of curly brown hair.

"Heya!" the new arrival said. "So who's looking to get inked?"

"That'd be me!" Dice announced.

As the artist sat with her and they worked out the details of the new tattoo she had planned to get, Mongrel settled into a chair in the corner.

* * *

><p>"I think we're done then!" Mindy finally announced at the completion of her work. Mongrel looked up from the newspaper as Dice leaned back. A blotchy red surrounded the new body art on the back of her right shoulder.<p>

She had made him hold onto her pink shirt and her NR4 (_why_ exactly she had to bring her pistol was beyond him) and he grabbed them out of his lap as he stood. She glanced up as he inspected the tattoo.

"Well?" she asked.

"I'll get a mirror," the artist said as she moved to the front counter.

"Hm…" Mongrel wondered with a scowl.

"What's wrong?" Dice's face took on a look of concern. "Is it okay?"

"Oh yeah," he nodded. "I just… I mean why'd you get a winged pig? And in pea soup green?"

"WHAT?" she yelped in alarm as the artist returned.

"Here we go," Mindy smiled as she held up the hand mirror behind Dice's back so it could be seen in the wall mirror in front of her. Reflected in its surface was a vicious stylized purple rodent chewing on a black grasshopper leg.

"It's not… no, it looks fine," Dice muttered as she angled her body to make sure everything was alright, then realization hit her. She paused as a scowl overcame her features and she slowly turned to look up at Mongrel's grinning face.

"What?" he chuckled.

"We. Are not. Amused." she mocked in a British accent as she glared at him.

"Is… is there something wrong?" the artist asked with concern. "Did I mess something up?"

"No, you're fine," Dice admitted. "My boyfriend there…" She indicated Mongrel as she moved to stand up. "Yeah, it's just a good thing he's pretty."

He was still smirking as he handed her shirt back.

"Keep smiling there, jack-wagon," she groaned as she pulled her shirt over her head. Her shoulder was a bit sore.

The front door opened suddenly and in walked three individuals. The first was a large, well-muscled bald man in his late forties. He had on a pair of dark sunglasses and a grey handlebar mustache.

Next was a thin, pale-skinned individual dressed entirely in black – shirt, combat boots, and pants. He wore black eyeliner around his blood-shot eyes and black lipstick on a mouth that seemed to be in a permanent twisted slash of a smile.

The final individual was a medium-sized man who was the most unusual of them all. His hair was a tall Mohawk, the base of which was black but faded quickly into a bright green starting about an inch above his scalp. He was shirtless and his chest and arms were covered in a wide variety of bright tattoos, including but not limited to a Chinese dragon and a tiger as well as several others. Green jean shorts, two thick silver chains and sandals completed his ensemble. He would be very hard to miss, Mongrel thought and, as he narrowed his eyes, seemed vaguely familiar – as if he'd seen the individual recently.

"Hey Victor!" Roxxie called out across the way to the large bald man, then she greeted the others, "Derrick." She nodded to the creepy black-clothed man then finally turned to the tattooed man. "Mr. Flegel."

The cashier turned back to the older man named Victor.

"Where's Shades?" she inquired.

The large man came over to her and spoke quietly.

"Across the way with Samuel." He looked quickly around the interior of the shop, paying particular attention to Mongrel, Dice and the other customer. "Yeah we're hoping Flegel can have enough pull, y'know? Get us back on track."

"Sweet," the tall girl nodded.

"Yeah, fuck those Third Street losers," the large man continued. "They just should've stayed dead and buried at Stilwater Penitentiary." He turned then and Mongrel saw the words '_Stilwater Bike_ _Club_' in faded letters on the back of his jacket.

"Shit," Mongrel whispered then he turned to Dice. "Uh, we about done? You ready to go?"

"Yeah," his tiny companion replied, she reached into her pocket and pulled out some money which she quickly handed to Mindy. "Thanks! It looks great! If I need anything else, I'll let you know."

The artist smiled and began writing up a receipt.

As Dice straightened her outfit, she glanced up and saw Mr. Flegel, the tattooed man. She paused and blinked as she angled her head.

"He seems familiar…" she mused then she blinked again and quickly got out her phone. "Oh shit, nuh uh…"

Mongrel glanced over as she quickly called up the dossier holding the **Hits** the Boss wanted done and scrolled to one in particular. It was a thumbnail showing the green and black mohawked man with all the tattoos and the following text:

'_Mr. Flegel is nothing short of a tattoo war god. His allegiance still seems strong to the Sons of Samedi and he could be considered a threat._

_He can normally be found near the Red Light district tattoo parlor and is very vocal about criticizing the Third Street Saints. This loser needs to go before he stirs up too much trouble.'_

There was an addendum recently attached by Pierce.

'_Seems like Flegel's worried about his safety and recently got himself a strung out Loa addict named Derrick to watch his back. This boy is CRAZY and will fuck you up without a second thought._

_He may be travelling with other allies, so watch yourself.'_

"Oh fuck me!" Dice exclaimed then looked up at the man again. "That's him!"

"Dice," Mongrel warned as he moved towards her. "We need to go, babe."

"No, not yet!" she called out again drawing everyone's attention as she pointed. "That's Mr. Flegel!"

"What's going on here?" Victor asked as the black-clothed Derrick stepped forward and stared hard at the pair.

"That fucktard's got a hit on his butt!" the short girl stated boldly as she indicated Flegel. "He ain't wanted around here!" She turned towards Mongrel. "Babe, gimme my gun. Gimme my gun!"

_Damn it._

Mongrel took a quick, deep breath as he tensed, readying himself. Then… he became a blur of motion.

He tossed Dice's NR4 at the short Saint as he dashed forward. His first target was the large biker thug in front of him. He closed the distance quickly and ducked low as he came in. A quick rap to the thug's mid-section temporarily knocked the wind from his opponent.

He turned and stood upright, swinging with a quick right hook as he did so. The blow connected with the chin of Flegel. The man went down, stumbling over a chair and into a side table.

The bodyguard, Derrick, was quick to react, however, and swung at Mongrel catching him in the chest. He followed quickly with a left cross and then with an even quicker knee to his side. The final blow landed on Mongrel's old wound.

The tall Saint cringed back from the sharp pain in his side, but still managed to throw a straight punch aimed in the direction of the goth-attired guard. The blow landed, but not as hard as he hoped.

Mindy and the other customer screamed as they took cover behind a large case near the back of the shop.

"What the fuck?" Roxxie shrieked as the four individuals suddenly started fighting and within the span of about seven seconds were all falling or stumbling backwards. She grabbed up a thick clipboard and moved to help her friends.

She swung and caught Mongrel just above the eye with the corner, temporarily stunning him. The tall Saint tried to move back and bumped into the counter.

"Get outta here! Get out!" the tall girl screamed as she continued her assault.

"Leave him alone!" Dice hollered, her pink crowbar out. She'd tucked her pistol into her waistband – Mongrel was in the way and she didn't want to risk shooting him.

The tiny gangbanger swung up at the taller girl and batted the clipboard from her hands.

"Time to pay, skank!" she yelled and moved closer, swinging her heavy weapon downward. She barely missed as Roxxie dodged to the side – instead the crowbar smashed into a glass display table standing in the middle of the floor, sending glass shards and pieces of wood flying.

Roxxie reached out and grabbed the smaller girl's wrists, trying to use her superior height advantage to topple her opponent. But the short, enraged whirlwind of destruction would not be deterred.

"Let go of me, you twig-bitch!" Dice screamed and pivoted her hip, throwing the taller girl off balance and breaking her grip.

Roxxie stumbled forward, slipping on the shards of glass upon the floor, and plowed head first into a sidewall. She went down.

Mongrel regained his footing just in time to be tackled by Victor, the biker thug. They fell back against the counter again, slamming hard into it and knocking the register onto the floor. Bills and coins exploded everywhere as the two large men fell.

"Boss, go!" the pale-skinned Derrick hissed with a twisted giggle. "I got this!" He reached behind a fixture and pulled out a T3K Urban SMG, switched off the safety, and opened up into the small shop.

_**-brrrrrrrpt- -brrrrrrrpt- **_

"Holy fuckballs!" Dice yelped as she dove for cover.

As bullets flew over head, Mongrel and Victor continued their struggling. Victor was strong and with a good grip on the younger man, but as skilled as Mongrel was in a straight standing fight, close quarter wrestling is where he excelled.

He twisted his body and let Victor get behind him, normally a foolish maneuver in wrestling, but the biker thug wasn't trained for this type of fighting. Mongrel gripped one of Victor's hands with his own, and pried his opponent's thumb away, loosening his grip. He jabbed his right elbow back behind him and smashed it full force into the biker's face.

"Aarg!" his opponent cried.

Mongrel shifted again, this time rolling until he was looking down at the wounded thug. Positioning himself, Mongrel braced his body with one arm as he drew the other close and smashed down with his elbow into the biker's face again – once, twice, three times. The thug, his face bloodied, pulled back and curled up into a fetal position.

Flegel, meanwhile, took the advice of his bodyguard and ran out the front door, pulling a pistol from his waistband as he did so.

"Dude's getting away!" Dice announced as she took cover and fired back at Derrick.

Mongrel pulled up and hid behind the counter, a hand to his side which throbbed with pain.

"You get out of here when I make a distraction, okay?" he muttered to her.

"I ain't leaving you by yourself!" she argued.

"I'll be fine, and I'll come right after you," he promised.

"But, baby…" she began as Derrick quit firing.

Mongrel turned as he heard the thin bodyguard loading a fresh clip.

"Now!" Mongrel cried as he scooped up the fallen register and yanked hard, pulling the machine's cord from the wall-socket. He stood just as Derrick finished reloading, spun in a tight circle to build momentum and threw the register full into the face of the Loa addict.

"Aw, fuck me…" was all Derrick could utter before the forty pound machine smashed into him.

_**BING!**_

The register's internal bell chimed as both it and Derrick crumpled to the floor, neither moving.

Dice used the opportunity to bolt for the front door.

"C'mon, babe, Flegel's getting away!" she yelled as she knocked the door out of her way and exited the shop.

"No!" Mongrel called after her. "I didn't mean for you to chase him down… UUFFF!" The last was uttered as the bloodied Victor moved to a knee and punched him hard in the side. The tall Saint fell forward and managed to catch himself on the counter.

"Stupid punk!" Victor yelled, punching him again. "Thinking you're bad-ass and shit!"

Gunfire erupted outside as Victor grabbed his ankle.

"I don't have time for this," Mongrel growled while he gripped the counter. He steadied himself, looked back at the biker and kicked hard with his free leg. The first blow hit his opponent in the arm, as did the second. Mongrel aimed and kicked straight down, connecting with Victor's face.

Blood exploded from Victor's nose and lip and the large biker went slack with a groan.

Pulling himself up, Mongrel finally stood and leaned back against one of the chairs bolted to the floor, trying to catch his breath. He realized the gunfire outside had stopped and stood just as someone moved in front of him. It was Roxxie, the cashier girl. Her earring had been yanked free and was dangling at the end of the chain still connected to her nose.

"Get the fuck outta here!" she snarled, blood trickling down the side of her neck.

Mongrel just shook his head.

"Really?" he grunted. "I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I doubt you could take me."

"Oh, I can't," she agreed as she leaned toward the counter with a dark smile. "But they can." She reached under the vacant register area and hit a button that activated a blaring alarm designed to summon the police.

His eyes narrowed as the girl continued.

"Yeah, my uncle's in the Stilwater PD, and always patrols less than a couple of blocks from here," she stated smugly. "I'm pretty sure you can guess which of the two of us is going to jail, you asshole."

"Damn it," Mongrel mumbled in defeat. "Nothing is ever easy in this city." He dashed quickly down the side hallway of the shop, kicked open the door, and ran.

* * *

><p>"C'mon, babe, Flegel's getting away!" Dice yelled as she knocked the door out of her way and exited the shop.<p>

She quickly caught sight of her quarry. The shirtless, tattooed man was hustling across the intersection as quick as he could.

"Shades! Shit man, I need help!" he shouted.

Across the street to the north, tucked in an alley, was a green Stiletto adorned with white decals. Two figures began exiting the vehicle – a dark-tanned man with a messy doo, and a well-groomed black man with a goatee sporting a black fedora and expensive Ultor brand sunglasses. Both wore green.

Dice blinked as she realized they were members of the Sons of Samedi. They dared to show their faces in Saints territory? Angered, she popped a fresh clip into her handgun and increased her speed; Blake and she would be seriously outnumbered if they joined the fray.

"Fuck it," she grumbled and fired at Flegel.

The first two shots missed, but the third caught him in the right leg. He shrieked and fell down.

The two Samedi crouched behind the open car doors and began returning fire.

Her main target down, she was able to turn her attention to the new threat. Dice and the Samedi exchanged fire as she sought cover of her own. Just before her clip emptied, she managed to catch the tanned Samedi in the shoulder, knocking him back. Suddenly, a loud blaring alarm went off behind her – coming from the direction of the tattoo shop.

"Hear that, fucktards?" she called out. "That'll bring the cops real quick. You're in enemy territory, and you're gonna be outnumbered and out-gunned real soon. All I want is Flegel. He worth this much trouble to you two?"

The Samedi in the fedora glanced out for just a moment, weighing his options. Finally he called to the other enemy gang-banger.

"Samuel, get in, man. We done here!" Apparently, Flegel _wasn't_ worth their trouble.

The Samedi clambered back into their vehicle. She gave serious consideration to shooting at them again, but this was her last clip. With a short squeal of tires, the green Stiletto sped out into the street and headed east.

"That's right, bitches," Dice said with a laugh. "Get outta our hood." She turned back to where Flegel had fallen and blinked.

He was gone.

"Motherfuck!" she grumbled. "You kidding me?" She looked around and then it hit her that Blake wasn't present either. A brief flash of panic struck her, but before she could act on it, three squad cars came rolling up to the shop. "Shit!"

She ran into the alley as her mind raced. _Was Blake still back there? What if he was captured, or worse, arrested? What should she do? Could she break him out? Could she take on all those police officers? Hey, that guy up ahead with a limp looks like Flegel… _Wait, what was that last thought?

At the opposite end of the alley, favoring his right leg, was a tattooed individual with a green and black Mohawk. Dice snarled. This was supposed to be a fun day, just Blake and her going out for a change. Instead, they'd been shot at and now the police were involved in the situation. Everything had gone to shit and somebody had to pay for it.

"Die!" she cried out as she ran full tilt down the alley, firing as she did so.

Flegel turned as bullets ricocheted into the brick wall beside him. He cringed and stumbled out of the alley.

_**-klik, klik, klik-**_

In her impatience, Dice had emptied her entire clip without hitting her target. She tucked the empty pistol into the small of her back and unhooked her pink crowbar just as she closed the distance.

"Die!" she screamed again as Flegel raised his pistol at her.

She swung sideways and smacked the gun from his grasp. The motion forced her to overstep and she took a moment to right herself as Flegel moved in.

"The Sons of Samedi will own this shit again!" he promised as he swung a fist at her head.

"Pfft, your bitches left you like the little… uh, bitches that they are." She ducked low and tried reversing her grip on Baby, but the action caused her to almost drop her weapon.

"Just shut up!" he yelled as he reached out at her again.

She tried moving out of the way, but Flegel managed to grab her crowbar. She turned and attempted to pull free, drawing their fight off the sidewalk into the street.

"Ugh, Let go!" she hissed at him through grit teeth. "Why do you fuckers always go for my crowbar? Get your own damn weapon!"

She pivoted her hip to break his grip like she had done with the girl Roxxie in _Rusty's Needle_, but Flegel was too strong. She start twisting again when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

"Fine!" she growled with a sly smirk. "You want her? Then take her!" Dice tugged hard on Baby once again, then at the last second, shoved the crowbar at Flegel and let go. Her opponent stumbled back away from her…

…and right into the path of a speeding Stilwater Municipal garbage truck.

_**SP-BLATT!**_

Flegel was thrown twenty feet through the air and smashed hard into the back window of a Compton parked on the side on the road. The garbage truck skidded to a halt and the driver's door opened.

"Oh no no…" the truck driver moaned in panic as he climbed down. He was a large, heavyset man in his mid-twenties, with a pudgy nose, black unkempt hair and a scraggly beard.

"What the fuck…? YOU!" Dice sneered in recognition. It was the fat garbage man that she'd gotten drunk with three days after Artemis, Chaz, Blake and she had gone to Shivington and beat Taibot and his thugs.

"Who wha…?" he stuttered. "Oh my god, Dice?"

"Yeah, Greg, you fuck." She started moving towards the astonished municipal worker. "Leaving me to walk home from your place at three in the morning. I oughta kick your ass, too."

"Um, it's Craig," he corrected her.

"Like I give a rat's ass!"

"Y'know what? Nevermind." He swallowed uncomfortably and climbed back up into the cab. "I gotta go."

"Hey, you coward-fuck!" she called derisively after him as the truck started moving. "Don't you know you can't leave the scene of an accident!" The truck picked up speed as the tiny girl started running after it. "Hey, ass-smear! I thought you wanted my number, huh? Guess not!"

The garbage truck turned a corner and sped out of sight.

"Fucking pussy-bitch poser," she said lowly then turned back to the disaster behind her as pedestrians moved close. She looked at the bloody rent form of Mr. Flegel, obviously deceased. She spotted Baby about twelve feet away in a pool of his blood.

"Uck! Gonna hafta clean ya off, hon," she muttered as she picked up her weapon.

"Dice? What the hell?"

She spun on her heel at the sound of the familiar voice and her face lit up with a broad grin.

"Blake!" She reached out and gave the tall Saint a quick hug.

"Not so tight around the waist. Got pounded pretty hard there."

"Oh sorry, baby," she grimaced with a look of concern. "You okay? I was gonna come back for you… even take on the cops if I had to."

"Yeah, I snuck out before they arrived, but…" He stood thunderstruck at the carnage. "What happened here?"

"He grabbed my crowbar." She shrugged. "So, I made him let go."

"Made him…?" Mongrel blinked, then nodded at the rent body. "You did that?"

Dice paused as a blank look came over her face, then after a moment she smiled widely.

"Um, yep, that was all me! Dude pissed me off… so I had to learn him."

"Wow… well, I have to remember not to get you angry at me," he said with a half-smirk.

"Don't worry, baby," she smiled as she hugged him again. "I won't beat your ass _**that**_ badly if I do."

* * *

><p>Troy Bradshaw was overseeing the crime-scene as a Channel Six news van pulled up.<p>

"Oh great," he muttered lowly, then in a louder voice, "Landers! Get those reporters back behind the yellow line!"

"Right, chief!"

He turned back just as another officer exited _Rusty's Needle_.

"Well, Josh?"

"Um, looks like just a fight," Officer Graden answered. "Nothing was stolen, even though the register was broke open."

"Anyone pressing charges?" Troy asked.

"No, sir," the younger officer replied. "Everybody here said it was the same two people who started the fight: a young girl with dark blonde hair and a tall blonde male… apparently her boyfriend." He handed a piece of paper to the chief.

"What's this?"

"Uh, the employee, Mindy Dougson, gave me that. She says this is the custom tattoo the girl wanted."

"Purple, huh?" the chief of police shook his head; purple was the color of the Third Street Saints. "Was she part of a gang by chance?" He secretly hoped the answer was…

"No," Officer Graden answered. "At least not that we know of. The girl was dressed in a pink shirt with grey cargo pants and the guy was dressed in black. Neither was wearing known gang colors."

"Oh." Troy was surprised, and admittedly a bit relieved. He glanced at the picture again. "So a purple rat?"

"No, sir. It's a… whatcha call it. A grasshopper mouse. You know the kind that eat centipedes and scorpions. The Mammal World Network had a special on them the other night."

Troy pursed his lips. "And this is the same girl that is a person of interest in the death of Mr. Flegel a couple of blocks away?"

"Yes, sir," Graden agreed. "The two incidents appear linked."

"Great, if she's not with a gang and is just randomly offing wanted felons… looks like we might have a vigilante on our hands." Troy sighed deeply. "Another friggin' urban myth."

"Urban myth, sir?" Officer Graden seemed confused. "I don't understand."

"Just something else that'll be hitting the airwaves soon." He glanced over at the reporters as yet another news van drove up. "First there's that story about a giant mutant Cabbit submerged somewhere off the northwest coast. Next, you have that Pyramid thing buried under Mount Claflin. Now, this crazy girl."

"So," the younger police officer smiled as he looked up at his chief. "What'll we call this story? The Tale of the Two Tattooed Killers?"

"No, but those newshounds will give it something just as inane," Troy answered as he held the piece of paper with the tattoo design in his hand. "Probably something like… _The Legend of the Grasshopper Mouse_."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The character of Mr. Flegel is actually one of the hitman missions that you can do in SR2 and he is accompanied by a creepy black-attired bodyguard.**

**This little interlude will be the last we'll be seeing of Dice and Mongrel as the central characters for a while as the storyline will take a slightly different focus in the next Episode. We're gonna give them time to themselves for a bit as we begin a new episode next chapter.**

**Anyway, thanks for the read!**


	35. Ep 4: The Other Side of the Coin, Part 1

**Originally, I wanted this episode to split its focus equally between the Saints and the Samedi. I later realized that it may be too confusing to keep flipping back and forth, so instead I decided to just focus on the Sons of Samedi (hence the title).**

**It will also be my shortest episode, because I want to return to the Saints as quick as possible. However, since a protagonist is only as good as the obstacles and antagonists he/she overcomes, I thought it prudent to give the current enemies of the Third Street Saints a little more exposure. Sorta my way of showing just who these men and women are that are opposing the Saints.**

**Finally, it must be remembered, while they are the protagonists in this story, not every Saint is a hero. And conversely, just because every green-clothed gangmember is a Son of Samedi, that doesn't mean they are all evil monsters.**

**Okay, enough rambling. Here's my new stuff.**

**(I don't own the Saints, only my own ideas. Rated: M for various reasons.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Being a Saint<strong>

**Episode 4: **

**The Other Side of the Coin**

**Part 1**

* * *

><p><strong>Sunsinger, Arena District, Southern Stilwater<strong>

**Tuesday, May 31, 2011, 9:43am**

_**In the air over Stilwater**_

* * *

><p>"We're almost there, Mr. San-Pierre."<p>

Jean San-Pierre was roused from his dark musings at the statement of Phillip, his personal pilot. He glanced out the front passenger window of the green Oppressor helicopter as it flew over the Arena District. His gaze travelled north to the Ultor Dome Neighborhood, one of the wealthier areas in Southern Stilwater.

Home of the Ultor Dome Stadium and containing such prominent businesses as a _Foreign Power_ car dealership, the neighborhood was an upscale area catering to independent business owners seeking to expand beyond the confines of the skyscrapers of Northern Stilwater. It was new, it was clean, and the property value was on the rise.

Most importantly, it had, until recently, been under the control of the Sons of Samedi.

San-Pierre pursed his lips.

_Had_, he thought darkly. _Therein lays the rub._

Eighteen days ago, on Friday the 13th no less, the area was attacked and captured by the Third Street Saints.

He shook his head. One of the wealthiest neighborhoods the Samedi held was now in the hands of the rival gang. Worse, the rest of the Samedi's holdings in the University District were lost on the same day as was the small expansion neighborhood they had managed to obtain across the river to the north.

Phillip turned the helicopter sharply and the stadium fell out of view.

San-Pierre looked over at their destination - the fourteen-story Hapton Hotel. Located in the Mesa Verde Plaza of Sunsinger, the Hapton Hotel was the largest building in the entire Arena District save for the Ultor Dome itself. The stone and glass edifice was a testament of modern, conservative architecture: imposing, strong and wealthy but not entirely unobtainable. Within its walls were successful entrepreneurs on errands to expand their industry, wealthy businessmen on conference trips, and happy well-to-do families vacationing in Stilwater.

It also housed a well-kept secret: The entirety of the thirteenth floor was owned and inhabited by the leader of the Sons of Samedi. When not prowling about the streets like a dark, predatory shark, the General stayed here, surrounded by his guards, surrounded by walls of steel and concrete.

His personal vehicle, the heavily armored Hounfor limousine, was housed and maintained in a secret and secure underground garage accessed from the rear of the hotel through a delivery entrance. The garage had a special freight elevator that went to the General's floor only. There was even a helipad located on the roof so the General could avoid any interaction with the people of the city if he so chose.

The building was his own personal command center and castle.

"Preparing to land, sir," Phillip announced. The _**whump-whump-whump **_of the helicopter blades slowed and became lower-pitched as they began their final descent. Within a minute, his pilot had landed the Oppressor expertly.

San-Pierre and his bodyguard, Jaqual, headed towards the rooftop door as Phillip began tying the struts down to the helipad. He smirked humorlessly to himself. The Hapton lay on the border between the Sunsinger and the Ultor Dome Neighborhoods – technically the northern half of the hotel now belonged to the Saints. Luckily their presence wasn't great enough in their newly acquired territory to threaten discovery of the General's secret base of operations.

As they approached the Samedi guard awaiting them at the door, San-Pierre found himself wishing for some good news. He and his fellow Lieutenants had been summoned to 'discuss the recent turn of events' with their leader. He truly hoped the General was in a generous (and perhaps forgiving) mood.

* * *

><p>"Do I please my General?" asked the girl as she approached the king-sized bed.<p>

She was a beautiful, full-figured, young woman with dusky skin that hinted at a mixed Haitian and American ancestry. Her black hair was pulled back and braided in long corn rows. She unbuttoned her short, green silk dress revealing her tasteful yet alluring black lingerie.

"Yes, my dear Kiwi, I am most pleased," replied the occupant of the bed in a smooth, heavy voice. He was the leader of the Samedi - a handsome black man with a well-toned physique and shaved head currently dressed only in white silk pants. His piercing hazel eyes inspected his loyal follower. "Please, allow me to show you how much…"

He reached over and pulled her forward. She allowed herself to be drawn in and kneeled on the bed as he held her close. He kissed the bare skin right below her bellybutton. His hands moved up and under her open dress pulling it off her shoulders.

_She is magnificent_, he thought as he lightly bit the flesh of her torso. His hands moved to her hips as he got to his knees. _Her skin is flawless. _He moved up and raked his teeth over her collarbone as he heard her breathing increase. _Her touch is divine_, he smiled to himself as her fingertips danced across his waist before moving to his back where her nails started to dig into his well-muscled back.

He nipped along her neck to her chin as she gasped and closed her eyes in anticipation. _Her lips are delicate_, he thought, brushing across her mouth ever so delicately with his own. He moved in close to her as she opened her eyes to look upon him. _And her eyes are_…

He stopped… and pulled back away from her.

"My… General…?" she asked, perplexed at his reaction.

He grabbed her by the arm and extricated himself out of her grasp.

"What is wrong, my General?" she queried again, then her face contorted in pain. "Ow, General, please…." She tried pulling her arm out of his hand. "Please! You're hurting me! Ow!"

"Purple," he muttered with an angry scowl as he shoved her away.

She tumbled off the bed and onto the cold, hard, marble floor. Fear overcame her beautiful features as he stood and moved towards her. She started crawling back away from him.

"Your eyes…" he growled lowly. "They are purple."

"I…"

"Stand up," he commanded.

She stopped and slowly got to her feet. She gasped in shock as his hands shot out and roughly grabbed her arms right below the shoulders.

"WHY?" he demanded.

"I…" she trembled in his grasp. "They are just… they are my new contacts. I… wait, please." She tentatively reached a hand up and removed one. "Please, they are just tinted that way. I… I thought it would be exotic. F-for you…"

He stared hard at her eyes - one the color of violet, the other her natural, pale verdant hue. Purple overcoming and subverting the original green? That could not be a good omen, especially with all that had transpired as of late.

He released her, then turned back to his bed and grabbed her silk dress. He threw it at her as he moved to a side table and then smashed his fist down on the intercom placed there.

"Serena!" he shouted. "I need you to come here."

He moved to an armoire as the bedroom door opened.

"General?" came a cool, inquisitive voice.

He turned and glanced at the new arrival; she was a tall, attractive Asian woman dressed in a tailored, white business suit with matching heels. Her short hair was cut in an executive style and dyed a light blonde. The dark green eye-shadow and lipstick she wore highlighted and enhanced her soft features.

"Have an escort brought up for Kiwi," he ordered.

"Yes, General," she replied, then paused a moment.

"Is there something else?" he inquired as he retrieved a shirt and jacket.

"All of your guests have arrived, sir. Mr. San-Pierre and his entourage were the last to do so," the Asian woman replied. "I was just…" She glanced at his partially dressed company. "I was hesitant to disturb you, that's all."

"Ah," he nodded then paused a moment. "I have a better idea. Do not bother with an escort. Instead, send me San-Pierre and his man. That is all for now."

"Of course, General," Serena said quietly, confusion on her face as she exited the room.

The Samedi leader dressed quickly and was retrieving one of his expensive cigars when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in."

Serena showed in San-Pierre, followed by his bodyguard.

"General, you wish to see me?"

"My friend, come, come," the General said with a smile. "I have a mission for you – actually for your associate." He looked at Jaqual.

"What would you have us do?"

"I need your man to take my friend to the _Image as Designed_ in Quinbecca," the leader of the Samedi explained, indicating Kiwi. "Serena will call down and make a car ready."

"With all due respect, sir," Jaqual began. "I work for Mr. San-Pierre, not…"

"Is there some reason you wish Jaqual to do this?" San-Pierre interrupted quickly. "Instead of one of your own men, I mean."

"I've heard of his skill from the Jamaican himself," he responded. "I understand his kind of loyalty and would trust one such as him to do this."

"And what, exactly, will he be doing?" San-Pierre inquired.

"Merely helping dear Kiwi as she gets properly attired."

The General turned to the girl, who had dressed herself by this time, and held out his hand.

"Your contacts, give them to me."

"But my General," she pleaded. "I…I won't be able to see. My other pair are…"

"Give. Them. To. Me." The inflection of his voice left no room for discussion.

Solemnly, the girl removed her other contact and handed the pair to him. He threw them on the floor and crushed them beneath his foot.

"Now then," he handed a black and green card to the girl. "Buy yourself something… _more_ _appropriate_."

Jaqual gave an inquisitive glance to San-Pierre, who merely nodded.

"It'll be okay, my friend," the Samedi Lieutenant told his bodyguard. "Just do this thing… and guard her as you would me."

Jaqual glanced over at the General with a slight frown before looking back at San-Pierre.

"As you wish."

The General nodded in approval as he snipped off the end of his cigar. Serena approached and quickly produced a silver lighter. She smiled and flicked on a flame to light it.

"Now then, my friend," he said to San-Pierre as he puffed on his cigar. "We will adjourn to the conference room. We have much to discuss."

* * *

><p>Located at the northern end of the floor, their destination was more than a mere 'conference room'. The large area was divided into several sections, each serving a different purpose. Dominating the northwest corner was a large gym – with practice dummies (both the wooden and rubber ones), free weights, and treadmills. Conversely, the southwest corner had a small array of computers monitoring local news networks next to a large table and a free-standing easel displaying Stilwater and the current control of the neighborhoods therein.<p>

San-Pierre frowned as he observed the latter – the amount of green had been greatly reduced and now purple, though smaller than either the red or yellow areas, was now more prominent than the green. He sighed, knowing why he and his fellow lieutenants had been called here.

Over at the gym, practicing his Capoeira against four low-ranking Samedi while dressed only in green track pants, was the Jamaican. The well muscled black man was probably the best hand-to-hand combatant the Samedi had, highly skilled in several forms of martial arts and with no room for mercy – much to the chagrin of those he now faced.

The Jamaican stopped and called for his sparring partners to take their leave as he saw the General and San-Pierre enter. He toweled himself off, pulled on a white sleeveless tee and approached the pair.

"My General," he greeted his leader who nodded in reply. He turned to San-Pierre and barely contained his sneer. "Mr. San-Pierre."

"Ah, Jamaican," San-Pierre smiled slyly. "So good to see you." He bowed. "Oh, and I wish to thank you for recommending Jaqual to the General for errands he may have."

"Yes," the Jamaican grinned back, baring his teeth. "I knew his loyalty to you would make him a… how would _you_ put it? A valuable asset to the Samedi."

"Indeed," San-Pierre continued as they followed the General over to the table next to the large easel-map. "And I also appreciate the assertion that you provided."

The Jamaican's eyes narrowed. "What… assertion?"

"Why the assertion that he is the most skilled of anyone in the employ of any of the Samedi…" He stepped forward, getting within inches of his opponent's face. "Even better than… _you._"

The Jamaican leaned close. "I should teach you respect now that your bodyguard isn't here to fight your battles…"

"Gentlemen!" the General barked. "That is enough." He waved his hand, imploring them to sit at the table. "We are all allies here… it would be wise of you to remember that."

The two rivals did as they were bid, picking empty chairs at the already occupied table.

Three seats were already filled. San-Pierre looked over and greeted two of the occupants warmly.

"Taibot! All is well I trust?"

The minor lieutenant nodded with the hint of a grin.

"And Gressor," San-Pierre continued on, addressing the final remaining crew leader working under Taibot – a tall, thin Samedi with curly brown hair. "How's the leg, mm? Able to walk alright now?"

"Better, thank you, sir," he answered. "I won't be running marathons no more, but I can get 'round again."

San-Pierre smiled. Everything he did was calculated – every smile, every word. He'd made it obvious that he and the Jamaican didn't mesh well. He also made it apparent that he was on good terms with Taibot and his crew. Finally, it was a well-known fact that he got along quite well with the Magic Man, Mr. Sunshine's most trusted advisor. The only one who seemed to have a problem with the rest of the ranking Samedi was the Jamaican – and something he was sure to have broadcast whenever possible.

The final person at the table he didn't recognize. He was a scrawny young Asian man, or possibly woman – the person's features were too androgynous to tell for certain. Either way, the individual seemed extremely nervous.

"And you are…?" the lieutenant inquired.

"Uh, yeah… I mean, that is ta say…, um…" The unknown Samedi's voice was high-pitched enough that it still didn't help to determine gender.

"His name is Checkers, gentlemen," the General explained. "And we would do well to study his methods."

Methods? San-Pierre was perplexed. How was studying this… this _**individual**_ going to help them…?

"Three times," the leader of the Samedi continued as if he read San-Pierre's thoughts. "Three times Checkers has managed to evade capture from our enemies. Three times he has managed to get away from these accursed Saints!" He slammed his fist down on the table. "In fact he was the only survivor when the Saints overran Pilsen. Thanks to him we were able to dispatch more soldiers and secure it before the Saints could bring in their own people, allowing us to maintain our hold on the neighborhood." He leaned back as he stood at the head of the table. "I want him to rise in the ranks and one of you is to take him under your wing. Any… volunteers?"

Silence hung in the air for a moment, then suddenly…

"I'll do it," San-Pierre offered with a smile though truly he wanted nothing to do with the pathetic looking specimen of humanity. "I've lost Micas and Gennon and am eager for replacements. If you think he will be suitable, my General, then by all means, I will be glad to have him."

The General nodded. _One more small victory_, San-Pierre thought to himself with a sly smirk.

"To the matter at hand," the Samedi leader spoke, and then turned to the Jamaican. "Bring me my machete, my friend."

Everyone froze. Finally the Jamaican was able to collect himself enough to go to the gym area and grab a heavy machete off of the weapons rack behind the free weights. He solemnly marched back to the table and offered the weapon to his commander.

"My General." He bowed low and backed away as the General faced the assemblage again.

"Now then, gentlemen, the Hounfor has been fueled and is ready to go." He looked at Gressor. "You will stay here," he commanded then faced the rest of them, the machete held at his side. "The rest of you are going to accompany me – we have a long trip and much business to take care of."

San-Pierre swallowed uncomfortably as he stood with the others. This... did not bode well...

* * *

><p><strong>Boo-yah! Finally got a chap under 5000 words (under 3200 actually!) even with my long gum-flapping Author Notes!<strong>

**Thanks for reading!**


	36. Ep 4: The Other Side of the Coin, Part 2

**A/N: Well now, look who's back!**

**Yep, EXACTLY one year later (seriously, to the day!), and here I am FINALLY posting a new chap to this story. Hm, just a tad-bit overdue, wouldn't you say?**

**Just so you know, for the character Jaqual, I had a thirty-year-old Sendhil Ramamurthy (from the TV series **_**Heroes**_** and **_**Covert Affairs**_**) in mind.**

**Also, the first part of this chap is based off of the cutscene _'Spare the Rod..._' from the Samedi storyline from SR2. Reference that scene if you wish.**

**Now, on to our tale...**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 36<strong>

**Episode 4: The Other Side of the Coin**

**Part 2**

* * *

><p><strong>The Mills, Factories District, southern Stilwater<strong>

**Tuesday, May 31, 2011, 10:59am**

_**heading towards the Tallen Meats Slaughterhouse**_

**…**

**…**

Designed during a special collaboration of the Dobson and Zanin car manufacturers, the Hounfor was a unique limousine made under the General's exacting specifications. For such a large automobile it had acceptable handling, decent acceleration, and was surprisingly quick. It was also probably the most armored non-military vehicle on the roads of Stilwater.

The dark green and black vehicle, highlighted with light grey Voudon symbols on its hood and sides, drove through Southern Stilwater. Citizens took note as the ominous car moved onward; prowling the roads like a giant shark it was the seldom seen, but decidedly well-known symbol of power for the street gang known as the Sons of Samedi.

Jean San-Pierre was silent as he rode in the back of the limo. He studied the other passengers as the large vehicle continued along the streets.

The thin Asian man, Checkers, was in the middle of the seat next to him, with Taibot by the opposite window. Across from them, smoking one of his expensive Cuban cigars, sat the General dressed in his customary white suit.

As they passed into the The Mills area, San-Pierre's eyes narrowed. The Tallen Meats Slaughterhouse came into view. Were they headed towards the hidden base of Mr. Sunshine? Apparently so.

They turned off the main road onto the dirt path, passing the garage housing the delivery trucks and moved onto the blacktop parking lot of the factory. As they approached the factory's main entrance, San-Pierre espied a lone figure awaiting them. He sat upright in surprise as he recognized the individual.

It was Mr. Sunshine himself.

Wearing his familiar dark jacket and matching slacks he was standing almost nonchalantly near one of the loading docks where the sides of beef were routinely dropped off. His hands were clasped behind his back and he appeared to be humming a tune. The whole situation seemed… _odd_ to say the least; for some unknown reason this instilled San-Pierre with an unknown dread.

As the Hounfor slowed and came to a stop, Mr. Sunshine approached the vehicle then opened the rear driver's side door.

San-Pierre looked to his leader, trying to hide his perplexity.

The General had a hint of a scowl on his face and glanced at the three men occupying the back seat. He grabbed his machete and stepped out. San-Pierre's eyed widened in concern as understanding finally began to dawn on him.

The General stood with his back to the limo. He sighed quietly then spoke to his second-in-command.

"You know why I am here," he said in his smooth, rich voice.

"I do," the voodoo priest replied as he approached his commander.

The General scowled again and raised the machete. He turned to his most loyal follower and approached. The voudon practitioner grew quiet and tilted his head to the right. The General reached out and grabbed the dark priest by the left ear as he brought the blade close.

"Aw fuck me, he ain't!" exclaimed the skinny man named Checkers. "Nuh uh!"

The leader of the Samedi began sawing away at his friend's ear, slicing it neatly off his head. The voodoo priest raised his left arm and clenched his hand into a fist. To his credit, though, Mr. Sunshine gave no other indication that the wound caused him any harm – he uttered no sound, made no grimace.

A look of honest sympathy crossed the General's face as he regarded his follower now bereft of his ear.

"I took no pleasure in this, my friend… but a price needed to be paid for failure," he explained.

"Don't worry," Mr. Sunshine responded as blood streamed down the left side of his neck. "I only need one ear to hear the whispers of the Loa…"

The General smiled and looked pleased. He grasped his friend by the shoulder and stared into his eyes.

"I know that you will fix this."

"Of course, General," the dark priest agreed, "…do not worry." He moved to the waiting limo and opened the door for his leader who promptly got in. The idling vehicle began moving again as soon as the door closed.

San-Pierre glanced back as they drove away. He saw Mr. Sunshine regarding them solemnly.

"Now then," the General continued to his assembled men. "That bit of unpleasantness is behind us. I hope no further demonstrations will be necessary."

San-Pierre looked at his leader in silence. He understood the message clearly. Mr. Sunshine was the General's most trusted follower and probably the closest thing their commander had to a friend in all of the Samedi. And yet, without mercy, he permanently maimed him. Yes, the message was most definitely clear: _If this is what I'll do to my best follower, imagine what will happen if one of you fails me again._

The thought was not a pleasant one.

"In two days be ready gentlemen," the General's voice roused San-Pierre out of his dark thoughts as they drove out of the neighborhood. "We will be having a special guest arriving by ship at _Slippery Finn's_ in Sunnyvale Gardens. _You_ will meet him and provide him with anything he needs."

"Who we be meetin' wit', General?" Taibot asked cautiously.

"Someone who is going to deal with our problems. Someone who will handle these accursed Third Street Saints." The General leaned forward and gestured with his cigar. "Someone handpicked by… _Sister Calypso_."

San-Pierre blinked in surprise as he heard Taibot suck in a sharp breath. Sister Calypso? Things had gotten more out of hand than he thought if the General's cousin had decided to become involved. He and his fellow lieutenants had to be careful if they were going to survive the coming weeks.

As he sat in the moving limo, San-Pierre wished he was anywhere but here…

* * *

><p><strong>Quinbecca, Suburbs Expansion District, northern Stilwater<strong>

**Tuesday, May 31, 2011, 4:17pm**

**…**

**…**

As he sat in the pleasantly decorated waiting room, Jaqual wished he was anywhere but here…

He'd been tasked by San-Pierre with the job of escorting Kiwi, one of the General's… _companions_ to the _Image as Designed._ As usual, he had obeyed. He sighed again as he waited in the cushioned seat. Finally, his charge entered the waiting room from the back office - a beautiful, full-figured, young woman with black hair pulled tight into cornrows and smooth, dusky skin hinting at her mixed Haitian and American ancestry.

Jaqual stood, straightening his jacket and slacks as he did so. He nodded to the woman who had a big grin on her face.

"Well?" she asked, a slight hint of a French accent to her voice.

"Pardon me?"

"Do they look okay? The General will like them, no?"

He gave her a confused look to which she merely sighed.

"My contacts," she explained widening her eyes so he could see them better. They were a bright green color. "I had them enhance my natural color. I hope they are pleasing."

He nodded. "They appear fine." He moved to the door and opened it for her.

"Oh! A gentleman. Thank you," she smiled as she passed through. "I just hope Serena won't be upset. It was her idea after all."

"I don't understand," he admitted as they approached the parked sedan.

"Serena? My friend at the Hapton Hotel?" the young woman explained. "She is the General's personal assistant. It was her idea for me to get the purple contacts – she said they would seem exotic. She said the General would like them." Kiwi frowned. "She was wrong."

"The tall Asian woman?"

She nodded.

"Mm," he shook his head.

"What?"

"Nothing," he muttered.

"Please, tell me."

"It's not really my place…" he began.

Kiwi stopped and turned to look at him with her hands on her hips.

"You can't just 'mm' and then say 'nevermind'," she balked. "What is it?"

He sighed as he looked down. After a moment he glanced up and caught her gaze.

"This Serena seemed extremely content at the General's anger. She had a smile on her face and was quick to be 'of service' to him by lighting his cigar." He nodded slightly. "I would suspect you were set up to anger the General and thus clear a way for her own advancement."

The girl blinked, her mouth slightly agape. Then she narrowed her eyes and set her jaw into a scowl with a flare of her nostrils.

"You are telling me the truth?"

"I have no cause to deceive you, but I shouldn't have spoken up at all," he said earnestly. "Regardless, that is the way it appeared. To me at least."

She stood still for a moment, then…

"I do not think we will be leaving just yet," she announced.

This time it was Jaqual who blinked in surprise.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"The General treated me poorly today," she groused, rubbing her arm where a bruise was starting to form. "He lent me his black card, and now I am hungry. Let us get something to eat."

"I thought…" Jaqual began.

She walked to the parking lot at the end of the block where _Rich A. Rounds Bistro _was located in the eastern corner of a short strip mall.

"You are coming, no?" she inquired.

He reluctantly nodded his head as he followed.

* * *

><p>They'd gotten a booth close to the back corner. Jaqual sat with his back to the far wall so he could observe the dining area while Kiwi finished placing her order.<p>

They sat quietly for a while before she finally broke the silence.

"So, how is it that Jean San-Pierre's assassin is watching over one of the General's girls?"

He focused his attention on her.

"I am not an assassin," he replied with a slight scowl. "I do not like that term. I am merely Mr. San-Pierre's bodyguard."

"I didn't… I mean, no insult was intended," she apologized. "It's just, I was curious. Truthfully a lot of people are curious about you. A man who fights with such skill and shows such loyalty, yet doesn't believe in the Loa and…" She trailed off, noticing the dark look that crossed his face.

She sat quietly, shifting her gaze downward. She picked at the end of her napkin, her discomfort obvious.

"I was merely curious," she muttered meekly. Her eyes remained cast down; no doubt she had gotten used to the idea of being dismissed out of hand or told her place did not involve conversing with others.

Jaqual sighed deeply then cleared his throat.

"During the course of my _employment_ with Mr. San-Pierre," he began, "there have been instances when an enemy gave me no choice. Several in fact."

She looked up into his eyes as he leaned forward.

"But I'm no killer. No assassin. Let us be clear about that. I am efficient in my methods, and they are most final. But I take no pleasure from them. I do as I am asked. That is all."

She nodded quickly.

"And you are correct in your assumption. I do not follow the way of your Loa." He reached out and grasped his drink bringing it to his lips. "My association with Mr. San-Pierre is based off… other reasons." He took a quick sip.

"You are lovers then, no?" she asked innocently.

"PFFFT!" He spat his drink out and started coughing.

When he finally could get himself under control he croaked out, "What? No! Why would you ask such a thing?"

"I'm sorry," she muttered with a slight giggle. She handed him her napkin. "It is just that no one has seen you with a woman. And San-Pierre, well, he is said to have, um, _interesting_ tastes."

"My dealings with Mr. San-Pierre are professional only. He helped me once with…" he hesitated, obviously having revealed much more than he originally intended.

She chuckled lowly.

"It doesn't matter what you say," she admitted. "I have heard just about everything. They do not think to conceal much when you aren't considered that important. Besides, I know what will befall me should I repeat anything. I have learned to keep many secrets if I want to survive, yes?"

For a moment, she laid herself bare to him. She showed him the briefest glimpse of her life and her situation – of what it must be to live as one of the General's women. It was a pitiful life to be sure. Perhaps that is why he continued on.

"My father was part of a group of financial investors from overseas," he said with a low smirk. "Very good at his job, very good at making money."

He stopped and took a deep breath.

"Although he did well, he had the unfortunate habit of being completely honest. This didn't sit so well with some of his associates who decided to seek easier and less legal forms of making money. He was betrayed by them and violently removed."

The girl looked shocked. "Oh, I'm sorry." She reached a hand across the table to touch his, but he pulled back out of her reach.

"Regardless, I sought the perpetrators of the crime with little luck. Fortunately, Mr. San-Pierre knew the criminal element well. He was able to use some of his contacts and, with the information gleaned, I was able to exact revenge."

She nodded. "You put things right."

"Yes," he went on. "Then when Mr. San-Pierre and the rest of the Samedi moved here, I followed. He'd assisted me and I was... _grateful_ for what he had done for me. Though most of his methods are not the best, I do owe him much."

"Like a life-debt?" she inquired. "You placed yourself at his disposal for a debt you felt you could not easily pay, no?"

He leaned back, surprise on his face. "Yes, that is how I felt. How…?"

"I am not completely ignorant, Mr.… um, is it Mr. Jaqual?"

He smirked. "Jaqual is my first name. My family name is unimportant. You may just call me Jaqual."

She nodded with a smile. "Jaqual it shall be." She leaned back. "My own situation back home was not as dark as yours, but I was an extra mouth to feed in a large, poor family. I was turned to factory work at an early age."

A humorless smile went to her lips.

"As I grew older, I was noticed by some of the owners of the factory for, shall we say, my natural attributes. That led to, uhm…"

Her eyes unfocused momentarily and her brow furrowed as less than pleasant memories resurfaced. After a moment, she blinked then glanced back at him with a forced chuckle.

"But that is past now, no? We are here now in America, the land of opportunity."

Jaqual looked down at his drink.

"Indeed," he replied quietly.

"So then, here is to us!" She raised her glass and nodded for him to do the same.

His eyes narrowed in perplexity.

"Just two non-natives sitting and enjoying a meal," she said with a smile. "No talk of killings or other unpleasant situations. No thought of crimes or betrayals of those you thought friends."

He glanced quickly at the empty _Image as Designed_ contact case resting near her purse and understood the latter part of her speech. A half-grin formed on his lips.

"Very well, then."

He raised his glass and clinked it gently against hers.

"Here is to us," he agreed solemnly.

* * *

><p><strong>Sunsinger, Arena District, Southern Stilwater<strong>

**Tuesday, May 31, 2011, 7:13pm**

**…**

**…**

The black sedan pulled smoothly into the Hapton Hotel's underground garage and into one of several spaces reserved for the Sons of Samedi's vehicles. Jaqual got out, walked around and opened the passenger side door.

"Merci," Kiwi said with a smile. "For this and the meal. It was nice to be away from everything, to escape from our fates if only for a little while, no?" She reached for his shoulder and was pleased when he didn't pull away this time.

"Indeed."

"I can see my way up," she informed him. "Be careful when you are out there, doing what it is you do."

He nodded slightly as she smiled again and then headed to the elevator. He watched her for a moment, but the sounds of movement behind him made him tense and turn towards the source. It was a rapidly approaching San-Pierre.

"Ah, there you are, my friend," his employer said with relief in his voice. "Good, good. We have much to prepare for. There's no time today, but I've already taken the liberty of calling the Magic Man. We need to see him tomorrow."

Jaqual nodded quietly.

"The day was rather insane, to say the least," San-Pierre grumbled. "At least for me. I take it your day went better?"

Jaqual nodded again then turned as he heard the elevator bell chime. He watched as Kiwi entered and gave him a quick wink right before the doors closed.

"It was not altogether unpleasant," he admitted.

San-Pierre's face twisted into an odd grin.

"What's this?" he asked as he glanced at the closed doors of the elevators. He chuckled. "Oh well now, I wasn't expecting that."

Jaqual turned to his employer with a raised eyebrow.

"You know," the Samedi lieutenant muttered as he leaned towards his bodyguard, "I _can_ make arrangements to have her services made available to you, if you so wish."

Jaqual scowled. "That won't be necessary, Mr. San-Pierre. It isn't like that. She was merely more pleasant company than I expected."

"I'm sure she was, my friend." The Samedi chuckled darkly. "I'm sure she was."

* * *

><p><span><strong>AN:**** Wow, San-Pierre can never just NOT come across as slime, can he?**

**Anyway, people are probably wondering where I've been all this time. Needless to say, I had some issues of a personal nature that almost resulted in me giving up this story. However, a good friend of mine told me to wait and let it sit, then write again when I was ready. **

**I'm glad I listened. I don't expect everybody to have waited to see what was next (especially 365 days later), but if you're still reading this I wanted you to know I plan on continuing with the tale.**

**Thank you to any and everyone that has ever followed, liked, commented, criticized, or reviewed my story. I appreciate you more than you know.**


	37. Ep 4: The Other Side of the Coin, Part 3

**A/N: Whoo-hoo! It only took me... (checks calendar) ugh, SEVEN months to get this next chap out? The good thing though, is that it wasn't a full year this time!**

**Anyway, thanks for being patient. This episode is nearing its conclusion, and soon we'll be back with the Saints again, especially since I miss writing them.**

**For those who are asking to read more of the crazy exploits of Dice, Blake, and some of the other Saints, there's a one-shot called "Dice and Spade Write Fanfiction" written by yours truly. And there's also another fic being published by a great author known as _Shadow182_ entitled "The Saints Rebirth" which, in addition to her own fantastic characters, features guest/cameo appearances by some of the OCs from here. It's a great fic, and I highly recommend it.**

**Finally, I want to give a big thanks to my bud, _PikovajaDama,_ who gave me some information that I implemented into my fic. I appreciate it greatly**.

* * *

><p><strong>Being a Saint, Ch 37<strong>

**Episode 4: The Other Side of the Coin**

**Part 3**

…

…

_The Demon was coming._

Zoe Patterson stumbled through the darkened tunnel, unsure of her footing. Her footsteps echoed off the metal plating lining the floor, but it was not enough to drown out the screams of her fellows who tried to slow the monster down. Flashes of light illuminated the section behind her as the creature's terrible vengeance was reaped.

She turned, glancing through the smoky haze created by the Demon as he destroyed all who dared to oppose him. Another of the green clothed figures fell to his wrath, blood spraying from the terrible wounds inflicted upon him. Her foot snagged on one of the vertical metal braces in the tunnel and she fell forward.

Landing roughly, she scrambled to get to her feet as quickly as she could. As she pulled herself up, she realized there was blood on her hands… her own?

No. It belonged to Darien, her boyfriend.

Momentary panic set in.

"Oh God, I left him behind-" she began.

But suddenly Darien was there, grabbing her and helping her to her feet.

"Baby, we need to go, we need to hurry to the exit!" He pushed her forward. "Before he can get to us."

She tried to glance up at him, to check his injury, but it was too dark. She stumbled and fell again, this time bringing him down with her. He grunted in pain as he landed on his blood-soaked arm.

"Dar!" she cried out, then scrambled to stem the blood coming from his wound.

She looked around for something: gauze, a first aid kit, anything. She paused as she noticed the screaming behind her had stopped. In fact, save for her heavy breathing and Darien's muted groans of pain, the entire tunnel was silent.

Almost.

_**-thump- -thump- -thump-**_

Footsteps upon the metal floor.

_**-Thump- -Thump- -Thump-**_

And they were getting closer.

_**-THUMP- -THUMP- -THUMP-**_

From out of the mist wafting about the tunnel's interior _he_ strode. Sure, determined, focused. A Demon made flesh: six feet tall, with pale skin contrasting against his black clothing, the tail of his black duster swirling behind him.

As he approached, he pulled the black visor away from his face, revealing the pure intensity of his cornflower blue eyes. They enhanced the startling, dark beauty of his visage even more, but there was no friendliness to be found in those eyes, no compassion, no hope. Only Hate was held within. The Black Prince of the City had found her, and there was nowhere to go. Her time had run out.

"Zoe Patterson," he called her name, his voice purring and hypnotic. "Or would you prefer your gang name of _Knickers_? Either way, I have you."

"Please, leave us be," she begged as she crawled over her wounded boyfriend, trying to protect him as much as possible. "You don't have to do this!"

"Oh, but I do," he said with a smirk. He raised his hand, revealing a heavy, black revolver. "It's time I dissolved your association with the Samedi once and for all."

"NOOOOOOO!" she screamed as she raised her hands defensively.

He pulled the trigger.

_**BLAM!**_

* * *

><p><strong>Prawn Court, Red Light District, Southern Stilwater<strong>

**Wednesday, June 1, 2011, 10:21am**

…

…

Knickers gasped in surprise as the violent ending of her vision brought her back to the physical world. It took a moment to get her bearings.

She was sitting cross-legged upon the bedroom floor in her small apartment. Before her were the instruments of her practice: sage burning in a ceramic mortar, shards of amber and black kyanite stones set before her for protection, a bowl of beaten silver containing fresh, pure water for clarity, and four lit yellow candles. As she watched, the third candle flickered for a moment and then went out.

She blinked in dismay.

"Well, that's definitely not good," she muttered.

To her right was a page torn from her Strathmore drawing pad. An intricate pattern symbolizing protection, etched in black and white chalk. She carefully reached down and moved the page off of the one she had placed beneath it. Her chest tightened a bit as she peered at the image she had drawn there several days ago: a handsome pale face with sharp features and black hair crowning it.

"Why are you after me?" she asked the illustration. The cornflower blue eyes stared back impassively.

A voice called from outside the bedroom door.

"Knickers? You okay, baby?"

She glanced up at the doorway, a slight smile forming on her lips. It was Darien.

"I'm okay. You can come in." She started gathering her materials as the door opened.

"I heard you talking. Wanted to make sure everything was alright."

She nodded. He was always there for her. Always faithful. So much was uncertain in her life, but never him. Darien was the one rock she could lean upon when the rest of the world was a place mired in ambiguity.

"You got a fever?" he asked suddenly as she gently snuffed out the remaining candles.

"Huh?"

"You're sweating."

She wiped a hand across her forehead then glanced down at her shirt. She was nearly drenched, and hadn't even noticed it.

"No, I'm fine. Just doing _this_…" she indicated her paraphernalia. "…takes a lot out of me, you know?"

He hesitated for a moment and then an earnest smile appeared on his face.

"I don't really, but if you say so, then I trust you. You know I always will."

She grinned as she stood.

"Let me take a quick shower. Then, if you don't mind, I'd like to go somewhere."

"Whatever you need."

* * *

><p>The hot water cascading down allowed her to relax, and memories came back from her youth.<p>

…

…

_Zoe Patterson was eight years old when she realized that not all of the dreams she had were merely fantasies conjured by her subconscious. Sometimes… sometimes they were real. Flashes of things that had been and occasionally those still yet to come._

_Then there were the whispers that began after she had turned thirteen. Slight, zephyr-like murmurings dancing across the edge of her perception. Frustrating whispers that begged to be made clear, that wanted to be heard. But she hadn't understood how to listen back then._

_Instead her youth was a frustrating mess of disbelief from nearly all of her friends and family. Disbelief turned to disappointment, and disappointment became isolation – no one wanted to associate with the little girl claiming to hear 'voices'. No one save for Darien. _

_Ever since they were young, he'd tagged along beside her. Initially, she had been annoyed by his attention; a stupid crush from the neighbors' son. As time went on, however, and others abandoned her, Darien remained faithful. Never wavering in his devotion, never questioning their friendship. To him she wasn't a freak; rather he said she was blessed._

_She sought out his company more and more, an island of peace in a sea of bitter frustration. She'd come to love him as much as he'd always loved her. When he finally worked up the courage to 'officially' ask her out, she practically threw herself into his arms. She never found cause to regret that decision._

_Then one day it happened, in the middle of the afternoon, as Darien and she had stolen away to an abandoned lot to remove themselves from the stares of her family, from the looks of disapproval. An odd man appeared before them - bent, twisted, and with the left side of his face horribly scarred as if by an intense fire._

_He introduced himself as the Magic Man, and said that he was sent by the whispers of the Loa to find her. She didn't trust this strange creature at first, but as he continued on, expounding upon the 'voices' of the Loa, of the spirits of the Samedi, she became enthralled. Here was someone else who knew exactly what she had gone through, who had experienced the same things as she did. _

_Rather than mock her and her abilities, the warped man offered to __**teach**__ her to control them, to focus them, but only if she would swear allegiance to his master Mr. Sunshine, and to Baron Samedi himself. She'd have to leave her old life behind, and join the street gang known as the Sons of Samedi._

_She had hesitated. As much as she wanted to learn about her gifts, as much as she wanted to get away from those who belittled her, there was one thing she could never abandon: her dear Darien. Once she made this clear to the Magic Man, the green-clad individual pondered the situation and finally offered to have the young dark-haired boy admitted to the gang as well._

_Darien hadn't wanted to do it; rather he suggested they run away to Steelport, or perhaps another city. Though sorely tempted to just go away with him, to just be free, she knew that they were still young and had no means of adequately supporting themselves. Besides, she may never learn the answers she sought about herself and the things she could see and hear._

_She talked to him quietly, trying to convince him that this seemed like a good option, and reluctantly he agreed to go with her. That was two years ago…_

…

…

A light rapping on the bathroom door brought her back to the present. She turned off the water and grabbed a towel.

"Yes, babe?" she called out as she dried herself.

"Hey, I still can't get the Danville working properly. The rear alignment just feels off. It's harder and harder to get parts now as it is."

Since the Samedi had declared open warfare with the Third Street Saints, a heavy toll had been taken by the gang – people, money, and vehicles were becoming in short supply.

"We still got Kermit, though," he said, amusement in his voice.

She smirked. "That's fine. I'll be ready in a minute."

…

…

Down on the parking lot, Darien pulled the tarp off of his back-up vehicle, a dark green Toad ATV affectionately nicknamed Kermit. He crouched down and made some adjustments to the underside as she waited patiently – he'd always been good at tinkering with things, and was considered one of the better mechanics in the Sons of Samedi gang.

As she waited, she noticed a young couple coming back to the large apartment building from Big Al's grocery across the street. They each were perhaps a couple years older than Darien and her, and had an easy-going yet very affectionate banter between them.

The girl was short with dark blonde hair and wearing a pink babydoll tee, grey cargo pants, and fingerless leather gloves. For some odd reason she had a dark pink crowbar slid through one of her belt-loops. The guy was a tall, well-built blond man, with dazzling sapphire blue eyes.

As they passed, the short girl glanced over with a smile and a "S'up?" before shifting her attention back to her companion.

The couple made their way to the large apartment building's southern entrance where the guy moved ahead and opened the door for the girl. The girl, who Knickers had seen about before - the pink crowbar was hard to miss - had been a staple of the apartment complex for a while. The guy was newer, having moved in with her only recently. However, they seemed like a good fit for each other, and Knickers smiled to herself at their happiness.

"Okay, sorry about the delay," Darien said drawing her attention once again. "Kermit's been acting a bit jumpy lately."

"It's alright," she said, then paused as his poor joke finally sunk in. "Jumpy? You dork."

He chuckled, and grabbed a rag from his back pocket to wipe off his hands.

"Your chariot awaits. Where would my lady like to go?" he asked with a smirk. "Better?"

"Much," she grinned.

"Then _hop_ on."

"Ugh, stop it!" She shook her head as he helped her on behind him. "Take me to Mama Tuteura's, please."

He revved the throttle and then pulled off the lot onto the streets.

The warm, late morning sun shone down as the two of them moved through the cacophony of busy traffic upon the streets. Some drivers were yelling and honking, others were rapping to whatever tunes they had had blaring out of their radios, and some were just oblivious to everything. They all, however, had their individual whispers.

Sometimes Knickers would listen, letting the whispers tell her their secrets. Today, however, she had only one person she wanted to talk to, and thus forced the murmurings from her mind. She smiled as the voices subsided. The Magic Man's teachings had been learned well.

She leaned forward, and lay across Darien's back, reaching around and holding him about the waist. She made sure not to cling too tightly, lest he be unable to steer the ATV properly. It was, however, good to just have him close, to feel him against her.

After a short journey, they arrived at their destination: the _Eye-for-an-Eye_ shop located in Sunnydale Gardens.

"I'll wait out here if you don't mind," Darien said as he shut the motor off. "Kermit still isn't one hundred percent."

Knickers nodded as he kneeled down to check the undercarriage once more, but she knew he wasn't comfortable around the voodoo shops, especially since most of them had connections with the Samedi. Most, but not this particular location.

She grabbed up her drawing pad and entered, and was almost immediately overwhelmed by the sharp tang of burning incense. It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkened interior after having been out in the bright sunlight. There behind the counter was the person she had sought.

A woman of mixed ancestry, Mama Tuteura appeared in be in her early forties with dark hair that matched her equally dark eyes – eyes that could peer deep within a person. Necklaces of bright beads and shiny bone contrasted against her dark blue gown. She seemed to be sorting different types of colored stones spread out on the counter.

Knickers hesitated a moment then approached the counter. Before she reached her destination, the shop owner spoke.

"Are you still wit' dem?"

The young girl halted with a frown. She searched for an answer to mollify the older woman.

"I will not aid da Sons of Samedi, you know dat."

"And you know I'm still with them," Knickers replied. "Why even bother asking?"

"For da same reason ya be comin' 'ere wit' ya questions. Hopin' for a diff'rent answer."

Knickers knew Mama Tuteura spoke the truth. Of all of the _Eye-for-an-Eye_ shops throughout the city, Tuteura was the only owner who knew legitimate voudun practices. It was rumored that she was as knowledgeable as Mr. Sunshine himself, just not as practiced. Nor as dark.

After joining the Sons of Samedi, Darien had continued questioning the methods of the green-attired gang which were brutal sometimes, as well as their motives. Especially when it came to the plans the Magic Man and Mr. Sunshine had concerning her. She finally relented about six months ago and took his advice to seek out someone else within the city who may give her a 'second opinion' of her abilities, and how she should use them.

It took her a bit, but after some research, she was able to locate Mama Tuteura and her shop. However, after her initial visit, Knickers learned that the older woman was not only no friend to the Samedi, but also held no regard for those who aided them, such as the young girl who now stood in desperation within her shop.

"You once told me that you believe the Sons of Samedi have twisted the words of the Loa. That they abuse the gifts given them. That's why you choose not to be part of them, and I respect that decision."

The woman looked up finally and fixed her gaze with that of the of the younger girl.

"Apparently not, since ya continue ta bodda me."

Knickers undid the elastic band holding her drawing pad closed, and pulled out a loose sheet of paper upon which was the drawing of the black-haired man of her visions.

"There's a darkness. I can sense it. Feel it. It seems to be after me I think." She showed the paper to Mama Tuteura. "I don't know what to do."

The voudon practitioner raised an eyebrow.

"Dat one…" she trailed off. "It is a good likeness, I grant ya. He be someone ya not want as an enemy. Ya know who dat is?"

Knickers took a deep breath.

"I-I don't really. The son of Hate, the Black Prince of the City?"

Tuteura chuckled darkly.

"Close enough ta da truth. His name is Mr. Kind, and da Black Prince is a good title for'im. He is da son of Alexander Kind who was truly a hateful man if ever there was one. Called himself King of Southern Stilwater at one time."

The young girl paled at the information. Even removed from the majority of the everyday gang life as she was, Knickers had heard of Mr. Kind, a psychotic murderer who left death and destruction in his wake. There were rumors he had allied himself with the Third Street Saints. The Elysian Fields Trailer Park was apparently taken away from the Sons of Samedi by him, but there wasn't confirmation on it.

"W-what do I do then? How can I stop him?"

Tuteura scoffed.

"Da likes of you are not able to stop one of his fury. I'd just leave'm be."

"But he's after me in-in visions I've had. I need help."

The shop owner leaned forward, hands on the counter.

"I will _not_ aid the Samedi."

"This isn't about the Sons of Samedi."

"Nor will I be aidin' you, ya selfish girl," the woman groused. "Find ya own way."

Knickers stepped forward, up to the counter.

"It isn't for me, either. There's a darkness which will be after me, and if it reaches me…"

Mama Tuteura narrowed her eyes, studying the girl. Her expression changed from one of contempt to mild surprise. She tilted her head and spoke again.

"Ya not be worryin' for yourself." Her eyes widened a bit. "Dere's someone else."

Knickers nodded quickly.

"When I look, when I see what may happen, I'm not the only one who gets hurt." Her face scrunched with concern. "My boyfriend, Darien is there too. He gets hurt as well."

She took a deep breath then continued.

"I know you don't like the Sons of Samedi, and Mr. Sunshine, and his followers. You don't want to help them. That's fine. You don't want to help me. That's fine as well. I accept that. But Darien, he doesn't deserve whatever fate is gonna happen. Not because of me. Not because of the darkness that's coming after me."

She put the drawing on the counter right in front of the older woman.

"Tuteur is French. It means Guardian. That's where you get your name from. You want to help those who need protecting. Help protect Darien then. From this darkness. Please."

The woman picked up the paper and stared at it for a moment, then her gaze shifted to the young blonde girl. She looked about the girl's face, studying it, then the air around her head and shoulders.

Knickers knew what she was doing. Mama Tuteura was listening to the voices. Listening to the Loa. Perhaps she _would_ help after all.

"The darkness is not after ya yet."

She handed the picture back to the girl.

"It be coming after ya through no fault of ya own, so dere's nothing ya can do ta stop it."

Knickers looked at the picture, then back up at woman.

"Nothing? Then why do these visions torture me? What's the point of just knowing something if I can't change it? The Loa aren't cruel like that!"

Mama Tuteura's lips twisted into a contemptuous smile.

"And dat, little girl, is why the Samedi's priests are foolish. Dey don't listen to the Loa properly. They don't respect dem. If ya listen right, they be givin' ya da answers."

"So I can prevent this?" Knickers asked, hope finally dawning.

"You?" The woman chuckled. "No, not you. Only the Child can be stoppin' dis. If ya can reach'im. If he decides ta, which he may not. The darkness will come ta claim ya and ya man, but if ya can reach da Child, den he may stop the darkness. He may stop it all."

A confused look crossed the girl's face. She was about to ask the woman to explain further when her cell phone started trilling.

"Excuse me," Knickers said as you stepped away from the counter and looked at the screen.

It was the Magic Man. Her brow furrowed; her mentor wouldn't appreciate her seeking assistance outside of the gang.

"Hello?" she answered, trying to mask the concern in her voice.

"_My girl, ya be needin' ta get ta da Tallon Meat Plant right away. I be needin' ya help wit' an endeavor."_

"I'll be right there, sir." She clicked her phone off, and turned back to Mama Tuteura.

"Go back to ya masters," the woman said before she could explain anything. "Dey got ya on dey leash an' won't be lettin' ya off of it anytime soon."

Knickers hesitated, wanting to know more, but the woman's icy tone indicated that no new information would be forthcoming.

"Thank you, then. For listening, and for telling me what you could."

The woman went back to sifting through the stones on her counter, ignoring her. With one final resigned sigh, Knickers left the small shop.

* * *

><p>The trip to the Tallon Meat Processing Plant went by quickly. Knickers' thoughts were a jumbled mess. Was there actually a solution to her problems? Could she escape her fate? Why else would the voices whisper this to her constantly? As she told Mama Tuteura, the Loa weren't malign spirits, they wouldn't just torture her with this information unless they offered a way out of this.<p>

As Darien and she sat waiting on the shipping dock outside the processing plant, Knickers called up the internet on her cell phone. Maybe she was given the answer and just didn't know it. She started searching through various articles.

Most of what she searched involved Mr. Kind, but surprisingly little was known of the criminal. He was more of an urban legend, - a myth, like the giant Cabbit, or that Grasshopper Mouse girl whose exploits recently hit the headlines. After several fruitless searches, Knickers decided to change up her tactics and search for information another way.

She looked for any and all information involving the word 'child'. Again her task seemed futile. The term was just too general to do any good. As an afterthought, she even translated the word into different languages… French, Italian, German.

Wait a moment. German. In German the word for Child…

…was _Kind_.

She blinked at her screen unsure of what this new information meant. Kind meant child? She was supposed to reach the child, who may or may not decide to stop the darkness that would be coming for her?

"That doesn't make any sense," she muttered to herself. "If the child is supposed to stop the darkness, then what exactly _is_ this darkness that's going to come for me?"

A shadow suddenly fell across her.

"Well, hello there young lady," a voice said in amusement.

She looked up to see two figures. One was the Magic Man, and slightly in front of him was the individual who addressed her: a dark haired man dressed in a black suit with green tie. He was handsome, but a cruel smile twisted his lips as he watched her.

"It's Knickers, right? It's been a while hasn't it?" His eyes shone with mischief. "I don't know if we've ever been properly introduced."

He held out his hand to her.

"My name is Jean San-Pierre."

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN: Next chap, the history that all of you - okay _some_ of you - have been asking for. See you then. Thanks for reading!**


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